


Sweet Pea x Reader (compilation)

by moegan



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017), Riverdale (TV 2017) RPF
Genre: ALL THE SWEET PEAS, Angry Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Cute Sweet Pea (Riverdale), F/M, Protective Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Soft Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Sweet Pea (Riverdale) Being an Asshole, dumping ground for sweet pea x reader fics!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moegan/pseuds/moegan
Summary: This is a just a place where I will put my collection of Sweet Pea x Reader fics. Feel free to request something in the comments, and drop me a kudos to let me know you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!! x





	1. Bathtubs + Scars

It’s not unusual for you to come home bloody and battered.

You spend your nights at the Southside boxing rink, racking up a reputation and moving your way to the top. You end the night with a busted lip and some bloody knuckles, but it’s worth it.

The cash that lines your pocket makes the bruised ribs and split cheek much easier to handle.

“I can’t believe you won’t just friggin’ listen to me,” he grumbles, tossing some epsom salt into the warm bath water to help dull the ache. He made you a glass of water as well, a few ibuprofen on the counter to accompany the drink. You try not to laugh; it’ll make your ribs hurt.

Sweet Pea has been your only constant in life ever since you’ve been in the Southside. He lives in the trailer next to yours, so he always offers to drive you to and from the gym because you’re never in any shape to drive yourself home when the match is over. Pea also is the one to take care of you because your parents couldn’t be bothered to stick around after your teen years.

“Can we skip the parental speech tonight, Sweets?” you ask through breathless pants. You wince as you try and get into the tub without reopening every wound on your body. 

He glances over at you once you’ve tapped on the edge of the tub to let him know you’re in, “But that’s my favorite part - I love how you don’t _ever_ listen to me.”

“Save the self-righteous, hypocritical bull crap, Pea,” you scoff, tilting your head back. “You and Fangs are out at night, beating up Ghoulies and protecting your own. Don’t act like I don’t hear your motorcycle rev up at night when you leave.”

Sweet Pea licks his lips and rubs his hands over his face in exasperation. You don’t ever let him get away with anything, that’s for sure.

You wave your hand, “I can take care of myself, Pea. If it bothers you this much, then just go home.”

“I can’t leave you,” he says quickly, grabbing the first aid kit and a couple of rags out of the drawers. Pea gets down on his knees beside the tub and gets to work on scrubbing the crusted blood from your wounds.

“How’s things going with Jos?” you ask, looking over your shoulder as he cleans the split skin on your shoulder. “You sleeping together yet?”

You’re sure that when he runs the sponge over the cut that he’s being _extra_ thorough. You wince, but he speaks, “I saw Josie and Archie making out in the music room the other day. It’s pretty clear how she feels - or doesn’t.”

“Pea,” you turn to face him, your wet hand cupping his cheek. You feel your eyes soften the longer you look at him, “She didn’t deserve you. She made that abundantly clear the second she called you a fling.”

“That’s all it was,” SP shrugs, a mundane look on his face. “Maybe Andrews can help her out, he likes music and all that. I’m just a Serpent.”

You grab him by the jaw and force him to look you in the eyes, “Don’t you _ever_ let someone else define you. Not anyone, and especially not Josie. You’re so much more than just a Serpent, Sweets.”

His eyes dart downward but you don’t make it out to be anything special. You release him and let your hand fall back into the bubbly water. You sigh, “I don’t know how people can treat one another like that, Pea. I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it all.”

“It’s okay,” Sweet Pea shrugs nonchalantly. He doesn’t look you in the eyes as he cleans the wound on your cheekbone. It’s leaking crimson and he winces as he rolls the rag against the open cut.

“If this is about money, I-”

“This ain’t about anything, Pea. This is about me. It’s what I want.”

“You and Andrews make quite the pair,” he scoffs, replacing the bloody rag for a clean one.

You choose not to respond, and he finishes mopping up your blood, cleaning it out and watching as the water slowly turns red.

“Time for stitches.”

He walks out of the bathroom long enough to let you drain the water and dry yourself off. Pea even laid out fresh clothes for you on the counter. How he has time to do these things for you, you’ll never know. What you do know is that all you have in this life is each other now. Toni has run off to be with Cheryl, to partner with the Pretty Poisons to clean up the Southside. Fangs has been missing for years, ever since the Farm chose their ascension night. FP and Jughead moved to the Northside years ago, and Pea can’t fault them for trying to give Jellybean a better life.

The thin t-shirt you’re sporting was Sweet Pea’s at some point in life. It’s threadbare, but it’s perfect to wear after a match because it doesn’t suffocate you in your sleep. The arms are cut out, so it makes it easy for the both of you to apply bandages and wraps to the various parts of your body that usually end up battered and bruised. The neck is wide, stretched from use, and it’s fraying at the edges.

SP unloads a decent amount of the medical supplies, ready to get to work on the cuts on your face first. He takes a q-tip with ointment laden on it and starts to smear it onto every inch of broken skin that mars your face and neck.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have too many scars to count,” he mutters, cinching together a butterfly stitch on your forehead. Sweet Pea brushes your hair away from your face, his fingertips lingering on your jaw and neck.

“Scars are cool,” you shrug, dismissing his worried tone. “All the Serpents have them.”

Sweet Pea shakes his head, “You don’t have to do this, you can make more of yourself in better ways. You don’t have to just punch your way out.”

“S’the only thing I’m good at, Sweets.” You look up at him through your lashes. His brown eyes are warm, asking you silent questions just with the colors swirling around in his irises. 

His thumb brushes over a bruise on your jaw, “I can’t watch you kill yourself for the rest of your life.”

“Then don’t watch,” you snap, your voice steely and quiet.

Sweet Pea’s teeth wrap around his bottom lip, trying hard to keep his commentary to himself. Instead, he moves on to wrapping up your knuckles in gauze, taping them at the wrists.

He puts away the supplies in your cabinet and then turns to walk out the bathroom door, but you limp towards him to grab his wrist.

“Pea?” You cough at the exertion. “You don’t wanna stay and watch a movie like always?”

The last person you have in this world licks his lips and shrugs his shoulders, “You told me not to watch anymore. I’m just listening to your advice.”

And then he leaves without another word.

-

Weeks pass, and you throw yourself into your boxing matches. You fight opponents much stronger than you, you take hits harder than you ever should have. You don’t care because you don’t feel anything until you land inside that ring.

“Come at me, c’mon!” you scream, slapping your gloves together and bearing your teeth. “Is that all you got?!”

She rages at you and manages to get a good uppercut in before you slam into her chest and throw her onto the mat. Her back cracks and your body heaves in exhaustion.

“Yeah, that’s right! Stay down!” You seethe between your mouthguard, stalking her in circles, praying that she gets up so you can lay into her again.

Moments pass, and the referee declares you the winner.

The crowd goes wild, you receive your wad of cash, and then you trudge home.

It’s harder to ride your motorcycle with your injuries, but you manage. There are nights that you want to miss Sweet Pea’s truck, but you force yourself to wince and bear it. 

That’s how your days replay. You have nothing but your fists, absolutely nothing, but you have to be okay with that because it’s your own fault.

It takes another two weeks for a fight to get too violent.

The girl has you against the ropes, her fists drilling into your abdomen. You can hear your ribs crunching as she piles into you. The crowd is so loud that it hurts your ears, but the throbbing in your head drowns most of the sound into a blur of screams. You shout in pain and double over, giving her a clean shot at your head.

Your body flounders to the ground and the ref pushes her off to the other end of the ring so he can count you down. With every number that he rattles off, you feel a piece of your soul die. Tears are streaming down your face as you force yourself to slam your fists into the mat and push your body upright.

“You can fight?” the referee asks you.

“I’m good.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, so you scream at him, “I’m good, ref! Now let me go!”

The referee claps his hands together and you’re back at one another’s throats. You get a string of punches in, surely she’s hurting, but it does not stop her from slamming her knee into your gut.

You hear someone scream out in the crowd, but you barely have time to take notice of it as she grabs you around the waist and throws you down onto the mat.

“Get up!” she screams in your face, spit and blood flying all over you. You wince at the contact, but she screams at you again.

Her foot connects with your ribs, again and again, but you can’t find it in you to tap out, to tell everyone that you’re finished.

“Stop the fight!” you hear from the stands. It gets closer as it repeats itself, “Stop the damn fight!”

You reach up to try and punch her in the face, but instead she is straddling you and pinning your arms above your head with one hand and continuously punching you with the other.

“Get off her!”

You recognize the voice, turning your face just enough to catch a glimpse of his brown eyes. A tear drips down your cheek and the final punch lands across your face.

All you see is darkness.

When you wake, your whole body is weighted, tied down to a bed that you cannot escape from. Your eyelids are heavy, your breath is short. You want to sit up, but find that you aren’t in control of your own limbs.

You push yourself until finally your eyes are unglued and you can blearily glance around the room you’re in.

It’s very _bland_.

The room is painted white, the curtains made of fabric that looks like it is from decades past, and the scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils until they burn. There is a blanket covering your body, a machine beeping in your ear as it tracks your vitals. You’re not sure how you got here or how long you’ve been out, but as soon as your eyes focus, you zero in on the figure sleeping on the couch next to your bed.

You want to laugh, but your chest is in catastrophic pain. Instead, you focus on examining your roommate as he sleeps curled in on himself, a blanket laid over the top of him but still unable to cover his tall form.

His hair is a mess, covering his forehead and falling in his eyes. His cheek is pressed into the pillow, lips full and parted as he breathes steadily through them. The tattoo on his neck draws your attention and you find your eyes drawn to it like never before.

He is dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, the sleeves cut off to expose his tan skin and cut muscles. You wish that he were closer, but you’re glad that he’s not as the tears begin to leak from the corners of your eyes.

As if he has some sort of super power to sense whenever you’re in pain, Sweet Pea stirs from his sleep and sits up on the couch. He grunts as he stretches out his limbs, pops echoing in the room.

You sniffle against your will, the movement making you cry out in pain, and in a flash, Sweet Pea is by your side.

“Hey,” he reaches out and grabs your hand. “Hey, you’re okay now. We got you here in time.”

Sweet’s gentle fingers brush over your cheeks and he wipes the tears away. He smiles but you can tell he’s in pain himself, “Don’t cry.”

The doctors separate you as they flood the room, rattling off medical terms to one another so much that they make your head spin. Sweet Pea is constant, holding your hand tightly in his own no matter how inconvenient it may be for the nurses who are hovering by your bedside.

They leave, eventually, and the two of you settle into an uncomfortable silence. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand and it makes you tear up all over again. All of the nightmares and the anger come rushing back at once, overwhelming your soul and forcing a bubble of fear through your throat.

“I’m so s-sorry, Pea.”

You break down into tears, your shoulders shaking despite the pain. Your sobs echo in the hospital room, the walls doing little to dim the noise. You sniffle, shaking your head, “I should have never said that to you. I-It was stupid and it was selfish and I was angry.”

“I know,” he brings your knuckles to his lips. “I forgive you, okay? It’s okay, just-”

“No, it’s not okay! It isn’t okay. I pushed away the only person who cared for me, who put me back together after I was done tearing myself apart. I-I can’t believe,” your voice falters and you fear it may break. “I just want to go home.”

Sweet Pea nods, chewing on his lower lip. “I know. Just give it some time.”

You throw your head back and stare up at the ceiling, wonder just how much longer that may be.

-

You’re tucked away in your bed when you hear him pacing in the living room. You sit up, your sleeveless shirt pooling at your waist. You stand, holding onto your side as you make your way to where Sweet Pea is mumbling to himself the next room over.

“Hey,” you murmur, leaning into the doorway.

He looks up from his pacing, his hand covering his face. His eyes wander over your frame and you try your hardest not to blush. He’s seen you practically naked before as he washes your wounds and stitches you back to your whole self. How is this any different?

“Hey,” Pea echoes. He takes a few steps towards you, “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Heard you in here, figured I’d give you some company.”

Sweet Pea reaches out and runs his thumb over the scar on your cheek bone. You watch as his eyes soften the longer his touch lingers. You lean into his fingers and he catches you with his hand.

“I’m sorry I left that night,” he whispers as if afraid of breaking the atmosphere. “I should’ve stayed.”

“I should have never told you to leave,” you admit, turning to kiss his wrist. You take a deep breath, “I-I was scared, and I didn’t like what you were saying and so I pushed you away. That’s not how you treat people - definitely not the people you love.”

His eyes connect with yours, a certain electricity running through them now. The touch of his hand expands to your neck, the base of your hair, and your fingers tremble as you press your palms to his chest. He smiles, a rare sight, and he cups your cheeks in his hands as he brings his lips down on yours.

Sweet Pea’s mouth is warm, his touch gentle, and he captivates you in a way that you know you’ll never find in anyone else. Your body aches as you sway in his arms, but you disregard the strain as you push yourself onto your toes to kiss him harder.

Your hands travel to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his back as you desperately try to convey your feelings through your lips. You can’t help but gasp as his teeth sink into your lower lip. Your fingernails bite further into his shoulder blades at the action and then it is his turn to wince into your touch.

“I missed you,” he breathes against your neck. His lips trail over your jugular and you find yourself ready to fly. Your back is pressed to the wall as his confessions fall over you, “I thought that you were dead that night, that I would never see you again. I thought I would never get the chance-”

His tongue presses flat against your collarbone and you press yourself closer to him. You drop your forehead to his chest in just enough time to hear him say, “I love you.”

As soon as the words are free, it’s like the two of you cannot get enough of one another. His hands travel your body like his kisses, unable to be satiated as they map out the contours and edges of your bones and skin and muscle. Your lips tangle together and your teeth clack against one another. You do not care how sloppy this is because this is all you’ve ever wanted.

Sweet Pea maneuvers the two of you back towards your bedroom, hoisting you up onto the bed as he runs his hands over your thighs. He hooks his hands under your knees and pushes you back so your head is close to the headboard. The look he sends you makes your blood boil and your cheeks burn.

“Wait,” you grab him by the nape of his neck, “I-I love you too.”

-

His index finger travels over the scars on your chest. He stops at a few, investigating them further. His thumbnail trails along hairline scars, his pinky finger dipping over deeper cuts. The pads of his fingers dance across the bruises on your ribs, staining them purple and yellow.

You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand, your own thumb brushing over the scar that mars his lip. He catches your finger between the bite of his teeth and playfully smirks down at you as you try to force him to release it. You burst into laughter and tuck your head under his chin, feeling him pull your body closer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he whispers into your hair. He kisses the top of your head and burrows his nose into the crown of your head. “I’ve wanted to, for years, but I never could force myself to do it.”

“It’s okay, it’s my own fault for being so stubborn.” You look up at him and he steals a kiss from your lips. His palms are flat against your back, fingerprints finding the scars on your back as he continues his exploration.

“I love you,” he smiles as he looks down at you. The expression lightens his eyes, darkens his cheeks. He kisses your lips and murmurs the words again and again, “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

You laugh against his mouth and he does not relent as he slips his tongue between your teeth. Your bodies are flush against one another under the sheets and you’re not sure why you ever put this off.

Sweet Pea kisses his way down your jaw to your throat, “I love you.”

“I-I love yo-you too,” you manage, your eyes shuttering closed as his lips make swift work of your body. His hands are all over you and suddenly you’re drowning in him and you don’t want to come up for air.


	2. Arranged Marriage + Love Confessor

The day you are engaged is the first day you meet your betrothed.

He’s tall with dark hair and deep eyes to match, towering over you as he walks towards you with your father in tow. He’s speaking to him and they’re smiling, which you hope is a good sign.

“My love,” your father reaches out to you and you walk towards him. He grins and you force yourself to mimic the expression, “Please meet Pearson Sweetwater, your betrothed.”

“So nice to meet you,” you force the words from your lips. You swallow thickly, introducing yourself by name even though he probably knows it already. He reaches his hand out, and you accept it. His lips are warm against your knuckles and if this weren’t an arrangement, you might admit that he were handsome and alluring.

But this is an arrangement, so you refuse.

-

The wedding is set for three months from now, and you are not going to be any part of it. You won’t pick the flowers, or the wine, or even the color scheme. You won’t support this patriarchal event because you don’t agree with it. It’s the least you can do to put your foot down where it counts.

You hardly see Prince Sweetwater in the time between when you were introduced and now, two weeks later.

He catches you off guard one night when you’re tending to your horse, Peaches. You’re brushing out her mane, considering taking her on a ride, when he materializes out of nowhere.

“Milady.”

You gasp, clutching your hands over your heart. You sigh when you make out his frame in the moonlight, relief flooding your shoulders.

“I apologize if I startled you, milady,” he takes a gentle step forward, using his hands as he speaks. His throat bobs as he approaches you, “Your father mentioned the stablehands prepared me a horse to ride for tomorrow. I just wanted to get acquainted so she wouldn’t be startled when I took her out tomorrow.”

“That sounds…” you pause, licking your lips, “ _reasonable_.”

Prince Sweetwater smiles, looking down at his feet, and you take the moment to drink him in and appreciate his physique.

“D-Do you want to go for a ride?” you find yourself asking. “I, uh, I know the best trail.”1

He is quick to answer, “I’d love to.”

You mount your horse and he does the same, being ever so gentle and speaking to her sweetly. He pats her neck and grabs the reigns, holding them firmly in his grasp. You look over the back of your shoulder and smirk.

“Ready?”

Prince Sweetwater nods to answer, a gentle smile on his lips as you both urge your horses to trot forward.

You guide him towards the lake, but just before you get to the clearing that parts to the shore, you dig your shins into your horse and Peaches begins to gallop. You laugh to yourself as the wind whips through your hair, breeze chilling your skin.

You pull up on the reigns to heed your horse by the lakeshore. You turn Peaches so you can watch as Prince Sweetwater struggles to tame his horse into going at the speed he would like. You’re laughing as he approaches, his hair a mess and his cheeks bright red from embarrassment.

“I should hope that this will not be how our entire marriage will be,” he says, breathless, with a smile on his lips.

You shrug, a light smirk tugging your mouth skyward, “What can I say? I like to keep my company on their toes.”

You both slide off your horses and tie them to a nearby tree. Together you walk down the lakeshore, watching as the moonlight glints off the water. You’re silent for the first few minutes, but it is the Prince who breaks the quiet.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he turns his head to look at you, a wild curl hiding his forehead. Prince Sweetwater licks his lips, “I hate that this is how we met. I wanted to come and visit sooner, I didn’t want-”

“It’s okay,” you reach out and touch his arm. You shake your head, as if that will give him further affirmation, “You’re a good man, Pearson.”

“You can, uh,” he stutters as his cheeks grow redder, “you can call me Sweet Pea.”

-

“I have been standing here for _so long_ ,” You whine, batting your arms around just enough to make your point but not enough to pierce your skin with the pins holding the fabric in place. “This is miserable.”

Your seamstress scoffs, “Milady, this is no way to treat your staff. Do not be ungrateful.”

“I am not ungrateful, just particularly unkind,” you sneer. “This is an affair of the patriarchy, not of me. Why don’t you have my father and the Prince sit through this miserable affair?”

The seamstress, Julianne, chuckles at your outburst, “Would you like to see the Prince in a wedding dress?”

You roll your eyes, “Does that mean I get to wear the pants?”

Instead of antagonizing you further, Julianne returns to her work and may stab you with her needles accidentally on purpose.

You cannot help it when you make your way to the kitchen. The servants there will make you anything you like, and right now you would like nothing more than a piece of dense cake and a large cup of fresh milk.

“That kind of day, huh?”

Sweet Pea’s voice makes your throat bob, and you almost spat out your milk. He smiles as he joins you at the table, leaning across it. The servants try to offer him something to eat, but he waves them off with two fingers in the air.

“I have been poked and prodded as if I were some sort of rat under experimentation,” you grumble. You stab another piece of your cake and belligerently shove it between your lips with a scowl.  

“If it makes you feel any better, I had to spend the entire day with your father, discussing how to merge our kingdoms,” Sweet Pea rubs his face with his hands and you can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Talk about a difficult afternoon.”

You reach out and grab his hand in your own. Over the past few weeks, the two of you have developed some sort of camaraderie, an understanding of sorts. It keeps you sane to discuss your days with one another, as no one outside of the two of you could ever understand how the other feels.

“I would rather be in meetings about how to feed our people and how to keep the servants warm at night than be sewn into a dress and berated with peonies versus lilies.”

“Lilies,” he looks you in the eyes. His cheeks burn but he speaks anyway, “I-I like lilies.”

Biting your lip, you match his gaze, “Lilies it is.”

-

You thread your arm through his as you walk through the garden. It’s warm out, so you’re wearing a lighter gown that is gauzy and flows with the breeze. Your hair is up, allowing the wind to send a chill down your neck.

“I finally understand your pain,” Sweet Pea tilts his head downward to you, “I’ve had to do my fittings, and it’s misery.”

“Well, I’m glad I have someone to share it with.”

The two of you walk further through the garden, and Sweet Pea pauses for a moment to pluck a bright yellow flower from the bush. He turns, facing you and a bright smile tugs on his lips. He reaches up and brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes and in the process, tucks the flower behind your ear.

You blush, “Thank you, your Highness.”

“Oh, stop that.” Sweet Pea runs his thumb down your jaw bone. He can’t fight the smirk, “You know I hate that, especially from you.”

“What was it I said the night on the lake?” You lean into his side and allow him to wrap an arm around your midsection. “ _I like to keep my company on their toes_. I can’t let you believe I will make your life easy, my prince.”

“At least I won’t be wed to someone without a brain.”

Sweet Pea holds you close, so close that neither of you notice the group of royals looking on from their balconies, observing the budding relationship between two betrothed.

-

“They are _starving_ , father!” You shout, your voice ringing out in the castle hallway. Your cheeks are stained with tears as you cry out for your people. “We cannot sit idly by while the neighboring kingdom is offering an alliance, and food! We must do som-”

“You will head your place, child.” Your father’s hand shakes by his side and you wonder for a fleeting moment if he may strike you across the face for your belligerence. 

“I will not stand and watch while my people suffer,” you seethe before unceremoniously stomping out of the room.

Sweet Pea finds you later, pacing in the stables. Your cheeks and eyes are bright red from your tears and he feels a small piece of his heart break at your appearance.

“Darling,” he squats beside you and cups your cheek between his fingers, “What are your tears for?”

You swipe at your cheeks and sniffle, “My father will not accept the truce with Edenburg. His ego will not allow it, even though they offer the resources that our people need.”

“Edenburg would storm the halls and take the crown,” Pea smoothes your hair. He smiles sadly, “A king could not afford to provide an alliance to Edenburg. They would steal our land, our people, out from under us.”

“Look at you - we’re not even married and you’re already speaking as if you’re the king.”

Sweet Pea scoffs at your comment and instead of snapping at you, he kisses the crown of your head. He sighs, “Maybe we could expand the farming land? There are unexplored plots to the east and the south. They are probably rich with fertile soil, as the mountains would provide minerals in the run off from the heavy rains.”

“I cannot watch another one of my people suffer because we cannot provide,” you say with a firmness even you are surprised with. You muster a steady voice, “We sit, high and mighty in the castle with our food and drink, while they struggle to find clean water and some bread. We can provide for them, but we are too busy stuffing ourselves to pay attention!”

“Come here.” Sweet Pea opens his arms and you find solace there. His lips are buried in your hair and your arms find their way around his midsection. You sob into his shoulder, the sadness of your people a contagion as it seeps into your bones and culls itself in the form of your tears.

The next day, Sweet Pea is at your room early in the morning. He knocks on the door, asking if he may enter your chambers. You know how this will look, what with the wedding still weeks away, but you don’t care. You don’t plan to bed him.

“Get dressed, but not in your usual attire.” Pea is breathless as he speaks, his own clothing confusing you. He is wearing generic brown pants and a green tunic, nothing special, nothing telling of his status. His hair is mussed, his dark eyes shining.

You do as he says, a simple dress adorning your frame and flat shoes on your feet. You pull your hair back into a braid and don’t bother with any powders on your face. Sweet Pea offers you his hand and in haste, the two of you make your way to the stables and ride your horses off into town.

“What are we doing?!” You screech as you breach the castle gates. The guards let you by, on Sweet Pea’s authority, and you’re riding down the trail into town before you know what’s happening.

“I packed the horses with supplies,” Sweet Pea motions to the backs of your steeds. Surely, they are packed down with satchels and baskets, filled to the brim with food and water.

He smiles over his shoulder, and you feel your heart beating quickly in your chest.

You visit houses, attempting to remain anonymous so there is no attempt on either of your lives. You give out food and water, and commune with the commoners. They tell interesting stories of the town and the wedding soon to be had for the princess who lives alone in the castle.

Before too late, it is evening and the air has cooled to a balm, settling on your face and neck. You are around a fire with the fellow villagers, the meat and fruit you brought to them being passed to one another and shared - as it should be. 

“I hear that the Prince is handsome,” a young lady pipes up, a bashful blush on her cheeks.

You nod in agreement, deciding to mess with your companion, “Yes, I hear that he has beautiful eyes and a kind heart. The princess is lucky.”

“I hear that they are in love,” another teen girl speaks. She brings her bowl of soup down from her lips, “I hear that it was once an arranged marriage, but now they are so smitten with one another, they spend every waking moment together. How romantic?!”

One of the younger ladies looks to you, “Do you believe in true love?”

You lick your lips, your heart in your throat. You take a deep breath and force a smile, “I used to. My father and my mother were very much in love, but she fell ill. Had she not been courted to his side, she might not have died. She may have been able to live on and love another.”

“But she loved your father!”

“And it killed her,” you quip, your eyes stinging with tears.

Sweet Pea goes to grab for your hand, but you are standing to your feet and mounting your horse before he can react.

-

The wedding is a mere week away and you feel more overwhelmed than ever. You’re up to your neck in last minute decisions, none of which you really want to make, and everyone is looking to you. You want to crumble, but your status and your ego won’t let you. 

You’re tasting desserts to be had at the after-party when he finally notices the tears brimming in your eyes and the paleness of your cheeks.

“Everybody out!”

The servants scatter in mere seconds, leaving the dining hall bare save for you and the Prince.

Your facade breaks and you sob into your hands.

“We’re getting _married_ , Sweet Pea!” You cry, your voice shaken. You sniffle and swipe at your face, “This is all for _our_ _wedding_ , to unite our kingdoms and build an empire.”

“Yes?” Pea phrases the word as a question as he slides onto the bench beside you, thighs touching. He pushes your hair from your face and gently drags your hands away so you can no longer hide your expressions.

“Do you not want to fall in love and marry her?” Your eyes are honest as you beg him for the truth. “Do you not wish to have your _true love_?”

“My princess,” he starts, a gentle smile on his lips, “I am beholden to you in a binding that I cannot break. You are my dearest friend, and I would not wish to have anyone else by my side as we go into this next chapter of our lives.”

“That’s just _it_ , Pea!” You shout and stand to your feet. You snort out a sarcastic laugh, rolling your eyes, “I don’t want it to just be the next chapter of our lives! I want to love the father of my children. I want to love my life partner. I don’t want to throw away my entire life for someone to halfheartedly stand by my side and call me wife. I want someone to _want me_ , to _love_ me!”

 You spit on the ground, “I cannot take this any longer.”

Before you allow him to speak, you are gone between the double doors.

-

Sweet Pea has never felt fear in the same way that he does now. It is the day of the wedding ceremony and he is in the most uncomfortable of fabrics. His stockings are itching and his shoulder pads are stiff. He is stood at the edge of the alter, awaiting your arrival that he fears may never come.

You surprise him, though, with both your appearance and your beauty.

The ceremony proceeds as expected, predestined vows are shared and wine slips down your throats. You take one another by the hand, and the fated words are spoken by the priest.

“Do you take this Princess to be your lawfully wedded wife?” he asks, turning to Sweet Pea.

He is sturdy, as always, and he does not hesitate as he replies with his lines. He then takes the ring - the most stunning of rings - and slips it onto your finger. He gives you a look, as if telling you that this is your last chance to turn it all down and go your separate ways. And you know that he is honest and true, that he would let you go without a second glance and never hold you accountable for whatever happened next.

You interrupt the priest’s words with your own - “Of course I do, now give me the ring.”

The crowd erupts into laughter and the ring bearer places the gold band in your shaking fingers. You slide the ring onto Sweet Pea’s large fourth finger, your hands hovering over one another for a moment too long to just be an arranged marriage.

The priest ducks his head and says the final words: “You may now kiss the bride.”

You suppose you should have practiced this part, but Pea does something to surprise you. He takes you by the jaw and turns your cheek so his lips just barely touch the corner of your mouth.

Everyone sitting in the pews begins to clap, throwing flower petals as the priest declares you husband and wife.

It is not until later, when you are alone in your chambers, that you ask him why he did it.

“I want you to have your first _real_ kiss with the person you love,” he speaks honestly. “I couldn’t take that away from you. Even if it means it isn’t me.”

-

The two of you share a room, share a bed, but you do not share the same body, not yet. Sweet Pea sleeps on the very edge of the bed, keeping his warmth and his body as far from you as he can without falling on the floor. He respects you - he waits for you to dress before using the facilities. He does not sleep in the nude and he normally wakes before you, so you’re used to being alone when you open your eyes first thing in the morning.

This morning you decide to go exploring. It has been eight months since the two of you were wed, and yet nothing has changed. You have not been declared Queen, your father has not stepped down. The tension between your country and the Sweetwater’s has ebbed, which was the entire point of your arrangement, so you’re delighted.

You pass through the halls, greeting your servants as you go by. They smile at you and wave in return. You’re not questioned as to where you’re going, but you know in your soul where your journey will take you.

The pads of your feet take you to the stables, where you see Peaches perfectly groomed and ready to take out for a morning trot.

You’re surprised to see Sweet Pea in the stall next to Peaches, but his back is to you. You reach your hand up to get his attention, but realize that he’s speaking to someone else. Instead of interrupting, you duck under the nearest stable wall and wait until he’s gone.

“I-I can’t just-”

“You _can_ , and you will, Sweetwater.”

The voice is oh-so familiar. It is the voice of Sarah, your closest maiden. She is the one who brings you the doctor when you are sick or sneaks you an extra dessert after dinner is over. She is the one who ends your fittings early and always picks you the most suitable fabrics. She is your most trusted maiden, the one who you would do anything for. 

_Why is she meeting with Sweet Pea?_

“I love you,” Sweet Pea grunts out. “I love you, and I don’t want to live my life without you. I cannot stand to be under the sheets without your body to keep warm, to give me shelter. I cannot continue on without knowing that you will stand by my side and be my partner in life, and in love. I have been in love with your soul and your spirit since the day I met you, and I cannot contain it any longer. Will you be my wife?”

You didn’t expect your heart to drop from your chest to your feet. You didn’t think that you would spill over with tears fat enough to coat your cheeks. You didn’t believe that you would begin to shake until you can’t tell which finger is which in the blur.

The ferocious side of you wants to turn around and rip them limb from limb. How _dare_ they conspire behind your back to have a secret marriage? Sweet Pea had all but given you an out the day of your marriage, had he not thought he could do the same?

You push yourself away from the stable and force your legs to carry you up the hill and back to your room. 

That is where you stay, that is where you never leave.

Sweet Pea is no longer allowed in your quarters. There is a secret chamber that is attached to your own, and you have Elizabeth, an older maiden, lead him to it. You have the servants move his clothing and bathing materials to the secret chamber, getting rid of anything that reminds you of him.

He beats on your door the first day, begging you to let him in, to tell him what is bothering you.

Instead, you become the silent princess.

Word spreads that the princess has fallen ill, which is why no one has seen her in three months. Rumors sprout from different mouths, some believing that you have found a new lover, some believing that you are highly contagious, and others believing that you’ve been murdered or taken your own life in your grief.

Only you know the truth - you have fallen ill to the sickness of unrequited love.

Months pass, and you really do feel like you’ve begun to catch an illness. You decide that you must get out in the sunshine, so you wake early the next morning and sneak down from your room to the stables. You push away the feelings that wind like a vice around your heart, remembering the last scene that played before your eyes when you were here.

“Peaches, you are my only friend now. This is a horrid place, full of liars and harlots,” you swing your leg over to mount your horse. You smack her on the backside and she carries you to your favorite place, the only place that can calm your errant mind.

You spend all day at the lake, soaking in the sun and dipping your toes in the water. You have cried until you have no tears left, your energy sucked out of your very soul until you find a rejuvenation here at the lake.

Finally, you fall asleep against the tree trunk, ankle-deep in the lake water with Peaches napping a few feet to your left. There is a book in your lap, but you forgot where you were minutes ago when your eyes began to grow heavy.

When you wake, the cool of night has taken over and the moon casts a shadow against the lake. Your toes are wrinkled and your horse is restless, but you know you must wait until later to go back. Others will spot you if you leave too soon.

You return to your novel, but your concentration is broken when Peaches begins to neigh and whinny, her eyes off in the distance. You grab the knife you stashed in your satchel, unsheathing it as you get ready to use it.

“Slow down, Princess,” the smooth voice speaks and your heart breaks all over again, “it’s just me.”

“Get _away_  from me!” you shout, shoving the knife in his direction. “Do you not understand?”

“I understand that you’re hurt,” Sweet Pea takes a delicate step forward, his hands in the air. “What I don’t understand, is why.”

“I am not beholden to you, Prince,” you shout. The knife shakes in your hand. “I do not owe you an explanation and neither do you deserve one!”

“Darling,” his voice is sad, heavy, “please don’t do this. Please talk to me.”

“You don’t deserve me,” you shake your head. You swallow thickly, tears forming in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. “You don’t deserve to have me beholden to you on behalf of your people. You got what you wanted, and now I am your slave!”

“Princess, I don’t know what you speak of. I don’t understand. Please help me to understand.”

You can’t help it that your heart softens at the sight of him. His eyes are so deep, his hands so inviting. You miss his hugs, you miss him holding you around the shoulders and burying a kiss in your hair.

“Please put down the knife,” he implores you, his voice breaking. “You don’t want to hurt me, I know that. I know you’re hurting, but you don’t want to hurt me. That is not who you are.”

“You don’t know me!” You snap, gripping the knife even harder. “You never knew me! You _used_ me to get what you wanted, to get what your kingdom needed and then you began your own personal affairs. Why shouldn’t I run you through right here, right now?!”

“For one, that knife is too small to _run me through_. You would cause some damage, but you wouldn’t kill me.” Sweet Pea takes another step forward and daringly wraps your wrist in his fingers, slowly prying the weapon from your hand. “You’re hurting, please let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” you whimper feebly. You shake your head, tears still falling, “I want to be free of this burden.”

“What burden, darling?” Sweet Pea asks as he tosses the knife across the meadow. “Please help me to understand. I’ve missed you.”

“Do _not_  lie to me,” you seethe through your teeth. You glare up at him, “Do not pretend that you do not occupy another’s bed. I gave you that chamber as a _gift_ , and you dare flaunt it in my face?”

“Another’s-wh _-what_?” Sweet Pea flounders to put the pieces together as your sadness chips away to anger. It builds in your stomach, a fire being stoked in your belly. The heat crawls up your spine and flushes your cheeks.

“Did you _ever_ think that we could love each other, Pea?” Your tough facade finally breaks and you let a sob seep out of your mouth. “I thought that I could push past the lack of natural love born between two people and see that I had to fulfill duties for my kingdom. I thought that I could learn to love you, that I could be okay with our arrangement. I thought that-”

You lick your lips and look up at him, meeting his glassy eyes with your own. You stand strong, shoulders square and jaw defined, “Was any of it _real_ , Sweets? Any of the conversations and the hand-holding and the secret-confiding?! Or did you string me along until you no longer needed me? Was I but a means to an end?”

“What are you _talking_ about?!” Sweet Pea grasps you by the shoulders, holding you square in front of him. “All I’ve ever done is love you!”

“Don’t _lie!_ Do not lie or I will have you beheaded for it.”

Sweet Pea’s lips part in a cry and he drops down to his knees in front of you. He grips the backs of your thighs in desperation, tears of his own traveling a path down his cheeks and dripping onto the ground below.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he speaks. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that I was beholden to you, even if not of my own volition. My heart took one look at you and decided that you were the end for me. I would die by your side, chained to you at the soul.”

Sweet Pea ducks his head against your stomach, burying his face into the fabric of your dress. He sniffles, and when he speaks his voice is muffled by the clothing, “I tried my hardest to keep from loving you because I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t love me back, but the more time I spent with you, the harder I began to fall.”

Looking up at you, he continues, “I fell and I fell and I fell and then we were wed. I wanted to kiss you so feverishly that day, but I had to restrain myself because I knew you did not love me. How could you? I came into your kingdom, stole your hand in marriage, and forced you into a life of captivity. You are a free spirit, unable to be tied down by anyone, even me. I could not bear it if I was the reason that you felt chained.”

The rawness of his voice makes your soul ache and you cannot stop the tears as they fall relentlessly down your cheeks. He takes a short, labored breath and continues on bearing his heart to you.

“I wanted you to love me so badly that I wanted to propose to you like a proper lover,” he admits quietly. “I-I wanted to give you my own ring, a ring I received from my great grandmother.”

Sweet Pea withdraws a ring from his pocket, producing a simple gemstone slotted against a silver band in front of your eyes. Your lip trembles and you stutter, “B-But Sarah-”

“It all makes sense now.”

He laughs, standing to his feet, “I was _practicing_ on Sarah. I needed to run through my speech before I went to the castle to speak to you. I had a whole evening planned. I made us a picnic basket to take to the lake - I even helped Janie in the kitchen to cook your favorite tarts.”

Pea’s face falls as he turns the ring in his fingers, “And then I found out that you were banishing me, refusing to see anyone. A piece of my soul died that day when you refused to let me in.”

You reach up to cup his cheeks in your hands, “You were going to propose to me? After we’d already been wed?”

“I know it’s foolish,” he admits, “but I wanted us to have our own story. And I love you.”

Fresh tears surface and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. You swallow thickly and sniffle before whispering, “I love you too, Pea. I-I’m so sorry I didn’t come to you before.”

“Doesn’t matter now, my love,” he nudges his nose along your jawline, leaving a fire everywhere he touches. “All I need to ask you now is…”

Sweet Pea drops to one knee, the ring in his hand. Before he can muster up the words, you’re tackling him to the ground and kissing him senseless.

Your lips are on his relentlessly. His hands hesitate, but soon he is gripping you by the hips and kissing you back with fervor. Your teeth knock together but you don’t care how sloppy this kiss is. It is long overdue.

“I want to be your life partner,” Pea whispers against your neck, kissing over the hot flesh there. He drags his tongue and teeth down your shoulder to your collarbone, murmuring along the way. “I want to stand by your side and see you as my equal. I want you to be mine, body, soul, mind. I want every piece of you.”

You gasp as his teeth are bared against your skin, sending a shock of excitement down your spine. He smirks with his lips still at the crook of your jaw, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Your hands are in his hair, bringing him back to your lips so you can kiss him again. It’s deeper this time, and you wonder if you’ll ever want to come back up for air.

Thankfully, you have the rest of your life to figure it out.


	3. Roommates + Dancing

After you were marked as a sacrifice by the Gargoyle King, the Northside threw you to the wayside, unwilling to stand by you as your life hangs in the balance.

You found yourself wading into the Southside. No matter how much they cleaned it up, there were still Serpents and Ghoulies, and even some of the Poisons. You hear knives unsheathing and guns cocking as you wrap your arms further around yourself for some kind of safety.

You aren’t truly helpless. Before you were purged from the Northside, Betty Cooper gave you a few knives of your own and some mace. The bottle of spray weighs heavy in your bag, one of the knives feeling like a rock in your pocket.

“Hey, you!”

You try your hardest not to turn and look at them. You’ve heard that if you acknowledge them, it’s worse. Instead, you push on down the dirt road towards an abandoned building with enough space for you to call it home.

“Little miss,” a deep voice curdles from the shadows. Your head jerks towards the sound and that’s when you realize you’re done for.

A few Ghoulies are banded with a couple of the Gargoyle Gang, and they’re headed straight for you.

As you begin to sprint, you wrench the knife out of your pocket and try your hardest to bring the mace spray to your aide as well. Tears are streaming down your face but you don’t let the sobs escape as you realize your fate is sealed.

You trip over a root in the pathway and find your chin in the dirt, hands unable to assist you in your fall. The dirt mixes with your tears and you feel grimy, but you won’t let them have you. You wave the knife around and finally grasp the mace out of your bag.

“Get back!” you shout, your voice hysterical. You glare at them the best you can given the circumstances, “I swear to God I will knife you.”

They obviously don’t take you seriously, because they begin to cackle as they close in on you. The taller one, one not wearing a mask, raises a brow and smirks at your small frame, “Honey, I’m into that sort of thing, so go right on ahead.”

You spray the mace in every direction, praying that you can wound even one of them. That would even your odds.

The ones wearing masks aren’t fazed by your attack and instead come onto you stronger, one holding your shoulders while the other loots your pockets and bag. You can tell they’re smirking through their masks as they speak, “We’re gonna have fun with you, little lady. Not too many Northsiders we get around here.”

“Hey!”

Everyone’s heads snap in the direction of the voice. Gathered around it, or him, rather, are a lot of Serpents and Poisons. Most of them are holding bats and crow bars and other various weapons, and they definitely outnumber the attackers that are circled around you.

You recognize Jughead stepping forward, “I don’t think anyone invited you to the party. Now go, before I let the Serpents have their fun.”

The one holding your shoulders viciously throws you to the ground and you’re sure that you will have bruises. You cry out and one of the older boys clothed in a Serpent jacket steps forward immediately to try and help you to your feet.

“S’okay,” he says quietly, and much more tenderly than you would expect from a Serpent. He smiles down at you and you can’t help it when you swallow thickly, trying your hardest to stutter out an apology.

“Pea,” Jughead approaches, “do you mind giving her a place to stay tonight? My trailer is full of the runaway Ghoulies and a couple of the younger Serpents.”

“Yeah, it’s just me and Fangs,” the guy hovering over you - _Pea_? - speaks. He wraps an arm around your waist to hold you steady, “If that’s okay with you?”

“I wanna be as far away from those guys as possible,” you manage. You’re still holding the mace and knife like your life depends on it, your knuckles turning white as he walks you to a trailer up the hill.

“S’all right,” Pea speaks softly as he guides you through the door of the trailer. Inside it smells like boy and pizza, but you don’t mind because at least it doesn’t smell like death. You swallow thickly, “T-Thank you.”

He notices the cuts on your arms from your fall and leads you to the bathroom, “I’m gonna clean up your cuts, all right?”

You nod wordlessly, unable to formulate speech. You follow him blindly, knowing that if Jughead trusts him then you should too. He sets you on the bathroom counter, peeling your cardigan off your shoulders. He tries to get your sleeves over your fists and he chuckles at the sight of the knife in your hand.

“C’mon, give me that,” he says jokingly. His fingers wrap around the blade and you resist the urge to shove it through his hand just on instinct and adrenaline alone. Pea shakes his head, “I’m not gonna hurt you. But I gotta clean you up, c’mon. Hand me the knife.”

You unfold your palm and he takes the blade before you have the chance to shiv him with it. He also manages to wrench the mace out of your hand, placing both on the countertop beside you.

The alcohol hurts as it cleanses your wounds, but you try your hardest not to complain. Pea has to plant a few butterfly stitches on your arm and leg, but other than that you’re patched up quickly.

He makes you a palette on the couch, finding as many blankets as he has and stacking them on top of one another to make it a little more comfortable.

It isn’t until your bruised backside makes contact with the couch do you begin to cry.

Tears leak from your eyes, blurring your vision. The tiniest of sobs splits your lip and Pea materializes in front of you, bent down in front of your knees. He’s speaking to you, but you can’t hear him as the panic builds in your throat and expels through your tears.

“Hey, hey, shh,” he comes to sit next to you on the couch, wrapping you up in his arms - this stranger, this new girl who may as well be a Ghoulie in disguise. Pea swallows and his throat bobs at your closeness. Instead of focusing on it, he holds you closer and tighter, trying to pull your demons out of you, “I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you. I promise.”

And that’s the story of how you and Sweet Pea of the Southside Serpents became roommates.

You wake up early to make breakfast, and he and Fangs are grateful every day. There’s hot toast, eggs just how they like, and pancakes if they’re lucky. You keep the trailer clean and you learn how to help Pea out with the repair garage he spends most of his time at. You and Fangs help out at the Wyrm, trying your hardest to send Sweets up the line so maybe he can own it one day. Jughead and FP make being a Serpent easy.

-

“I’m just saying, it’s weird,” Cheryl Blossom speaks from over her martini glass. She sighs, “Sweet Pea can’t stand people, and yet he can’t bear to be separated from the little twit.”

Toni smacks Cheryl’s arm with the towel she uses to mop up the bar. The redhead’s jaw drops at the gesture, but Toni just continues pouring drinks.

Fangs raises his beer bottle, “I, for one, am glad that he found someone that could get rid of his scary bits.”

“Scary bits aren’t just _gone_ , Fogarty,” Toni nods in another direction. Sweet Pea has a man by the collar, his feet dangling off the ground. “They’re just not there all the time now, is all.”

It’s been years since you all graduated from Riverdale, years since the Black Hood and the Gargoyle King and Serpents vs. Ghoulies. You live in some semblance of peace now, even if the Southside is still in ruins.

You and Pea are going to make it better, though, you vow. You’re going to work with the Northside to try and employ the Southside in order to help clean it up. You’re going to fix it.

-

“I’m just saying, Toni has the pizazz,” you gesture to the pink-haired girl tending the bar one night. You nudge Pea’s arm, “She could be a real estate agent! She could do it. And the Serpents could team up with Andrews Construction and work on building some new houses, remodel a few. It would help everybody.”

“I s’pose you could help with the finance side of that, huh?” Sweet Pea smirks, loving it when he gets to tease you for your smarts. He would never blatantly tell anyone, but he finds your intelligence and your drive inspiring and exciting. How you managed to become a Serpent accountant, he’ll never know.

“I suppose,” you shrug, fighting a smirk.

-

Every night you end up back in your bed, some nights later than others, but still always in the bed that Sweet Pea built for you when he decided you weren’t getting out of his sight ever again.

The nightmare plagues you on this night, though, and you wake up screaming. Sweet Pea comes running to your side, as always, sliding under the covers and holding your head tightly against his chest as he tries to pry the demons from your mind. He’s whispering in your ear but all you focus on is the steady beat of his heart.

You pull yourself closer to him, entwining your legs and wrapping your arms around his midsection. You cry into his skin, wishing that this wasn’t the only way you could get him in your bed, holding you like his life depends on it.

-

“ _Josie_?!” you squeak, slamming your hands on the bar. You hide your face to hopefully keep your blushing to yourself. You shake your head, “No, there’s no way. Sweets would never take Archie’s leftovers!”

“Just because he hates Archie doesn’t mean he hates affection,” Toni snorts, pouring another beer on tap and sliding it across the bar with a wink. She shakes her head, “If you’d just tell him how you feel, maybe he wouldn’t go looking for you in other people.”

“I _don’t_ like Pea, don’t be ridiculous,” you down your shot in one gulp, trying your hardest to put Pea and Josie out of your mind. You take a deep breath and push your shot glass towards Toni, “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“You can’t expect him to go through life with just you, babe,” Toni smiles sadly. “And if you’re not going to tell him how great he is, someone else will.”

She leans over the bar, the shot glass still in her clutches, “Besides, don’t you want to know just how good of a kisser he is?”

Your face goes red, and you snatch the shot out of her hands, letting the alcohol burn your throat as it goes down smooth.

-

Does it make your heart ache when Sweet Pea walks out of the Wyrm with Josie? _Yes._

You have to see him every day, at his best and at his worst, and yet she gets to be the one who lays claim to him. 

You and Pea have always been a team, so it’s strange seeing him with someone else

It hurts more to make breakfast, and so you stop. It hurts to watch him wander around the house with only a towel around his waist as he searches for his favorite flannel and his Serpent jacket, so you hide in your room. It hurts to see him downing beers with the Northside, the place you were born, and so you stop going to the Wyrm.

It takes six months before he says anything.

“Hey, we need to talk,” he corners you as you slip through the trailer door.

You raise your brow, alcohol still sitting on your lips from your evening at Toni and Cheryl’s. “Talk about what? Don’t you talk everything out with Josie now?”

“I knew it,” Pea smirks. “I knew it bothered you.”

“Congrats, you’re clairvoyant.” You deadpan before slamming the door closed behind you and trudging to your room. You wipe at your face, trying your hardest to keep a mellow look about you.

“If it bothered you, why didn’t you say something to me?” Sweet Pea follows you into your bedroom. He glances at the bed he remembers building you years ago, and he smiles.

You shrug, “You don’t need me telling you that she doesn’t deserve you. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

“She doesn’t deserve me? Josie?” Sweet Pea scoffs, “I don’t get you. If sweet, pretty, smart Josie doesn’t deserve me, then who does?!”

Your words are cotton in your throat, unable to spring forward and tell him the truth.

Sweets shakes his head, his eyes glassy, “You can’t have it both ways, sweetheart. You don’t get to keep me chained to you and also keep me at arms length. It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” your voice breaks as the first tear streams down your cheek. “I just-”

“You just _what_?!” he snaps, taking a step back from you so he’s stood in the doorway. “You just thought it would be me and you against the world forever? That I would forget about everyone else and just be okay with whatever the hell it is that we are?”

Sweet Pea licks his lips and rubs at his cheeks before he can show you he’s crying. He sighs and closes his eyes, “I’m not some keychain you can keep in your pocket.”

He walks out, slamming the door to the trailer, and you allow yourself to crumble.

-

It’s months before you visit the Wyrm again.

You temporarily moved in with Toni and Cheryl, staying in the extra suite in the back of Thistlehouse.

You take a deep breath and step through the wood doors, your second home taking you in and pushing a warmth into your chest that you can’t find anywhere else.

Toni waves at you from the bar, a martini already made with your name on it. You make your way to the bar when you see him - Sweet Pea is sitting in a corner booth with a couple other Serpents, brooding as they watch over the Wyrm, keeping it safe.

Your mouth grows dry, but you sit at the bar anyway and sip on the martini to try and quench the thirst that crawls into your throat.

“He misses you,” she blurts. Toni looks up at you with wide eyes, “He does.”

“I know,” you swirl your martini in the fancy glass, “I miss him too.”

A few songs play out and then you find your way to the dance floor, a few of your friends from high school dancing around you. You sway to the music, whether its fast or slow, and lose yourself in the heat and lights of the Whyte Wyrm. You smile, wrapping your arms around yourself as the song shifts to another.

Your name is spoken a few feet away and it snaps you out of your trance. You gulp, opening your eyes to see him towering over everyone else, staring straight into your soul.

You smile sadly, approaching him. He does the unexpected and grabs you around the waist, pulling you close as the music slows. His cheek rests on the crown of your head and you find yourself fitting back together like it should be, like it was.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, hands heavy against your waist.

You shake your head and fumble your fingers against the nape of his neck. You swallow, “I-I was asking too much and you were right. I can’t expect you to be exclusive to me.”

Sweet Pea maneuvers a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb over the bone there, trailing down to your lips to trace them. You purse your lips and kiss the pad of his finger, closing your eyes.

He drops his forehead to yours, bending down to be on your level, “I’ve missed you.”

“You missed your eggs and toast,” you swat at his chest. He laughs but never falters in his hold on you. Sweet Pea kisses your forehead, “I miss so much more than eggs and toast, sweetheart.”

You look into his eyes and the overwhelming desire to kiss him senseless, until you can’t breathe, takes over until you’re threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him as close as you can before your lips touch. Then, you remember.

“Josie-”

He shakes his head, his nose bumping into yours. “I couldn’t be all in with her, and that wasn’t fair. I was too in love with someone else.”

You lick your lips and go to argue with him, but he quiets you with his mouth on yours. He’s warm, soft, and everything you imagined and more. You smile against his lips, pushing yourself up on your toes to give him more.

“I-” You’re breathless as he parts from you, “I’m so sorry.”

Sweet Pea chuckles, “Only you could apologize for kissing me like that.”

“I’ve been screwing this up for years,” you tell him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing over his tattoo with your thumb. “I should’ve just told you, then maybe things would be different.”

“That’s over now,” he shrugs, pushing a lock of hair from your face. “We don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

He brings you in for another kiss and the spotlights from above center on your two bodies intertwined together. Whoops and hollers echo throughout the Wyrm, Serpents cheering you two on as you kiss. You laugh against Pea’s lips and press your palms to his chest.

“I love you,” he pants as you break apart. “I think I’ve always loved you.”

You look up into his eyes as everyone quiets down. Your hands are on his cheeks, making sure that this is real and not just another dream. You smile, “It’s always been you, Sweets. Just you.”

Sweet Pea picks you up by your hips and you wrap your legs around him as he makes his way to the back of the bar. You’re laughing hysterically as he holds onto you tightly, pushing the double doors open and stashing you both in a supply closet.

“This is so typical of a Serpent,” you wink at him.

He rolls his eyes, “You love it.”

“I do, Sweets,” you bite your lip as you look up at him through thick lashes. He pushes you against the wall, hands all over you like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. Pea understands what you mean without you having to explain further.

You smirk, “So, you going to give me a good Serpent’s welcome?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t even know,” he says before he dives in to kiss your neck, the mirror of the spot where his snake tattoo takes up space on his own skin.

It takes a little while before you have your own tattoo and jacket, but everyone knows that even without the labels, Sweet Pea would kill anyone who touched you. That’s just how it goes.


	4. Fake Married + Baby!fic

“Sweets, I don’t know what to friggin’ do, she won’t stop _crying_!”

“Do you need reinforcements?”

“I-uh, well, ugh– _yes, please_ ,” you admit through tears.

It takes him an hour to get to your house, and the little baby in your arms still hasn’t ebbed her sobs. It doesn’t matter what you do - rocking, feeding, singing, kissing, whispering, anything. You’re crying as you try to sing to her through your tears, watery words leaving your lips.

“Honey, I’m home!”

At least that gets you to laugh.

You swallow and chuckle wetly, wiping at your face before he can come in the nursery to see you in your blabbering mess.

“Hey,” he’s quiet as he enters the room, reaching out to hug you around the shoulders. He coos down at the tiny human in your arms, “And how are you tonight missus?”

You roll your eyes, “You don’t get to ask her how she’s doing, Sweets. She’s killing me. Would you ask a killer how they’re feeling?”

Sweet Pea smiles wryly down at you and proceeds to take her from your arms and coddle her against his chest. He bounces her up and down, gently caressing her back as he hums in her ear.

It takes another hour, but finally he gets her to fall asleep in his arms at three in the morning. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open on the couch that is placed in the nursery.

“C’mon,” he murmurs in your ear as he reaches down to pluck you from the couch. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nod numbly, your head lolling against his chest. Sweet Pea manages to get you under your covers before grabbing his keys.

“Stay, Pea,” you murmur, dumbly reaching out for his shadow. You pout just enough to make him feel guilty, “Please?”

His shadow gets larger as he gets closer and you can’t fight the smile on your face. Sweet Pea leans down onto his knees, his fingertips brushing through your hair.

“I’ll be on the couch, then.”

You shake your head and reach up to cup his cheek in your palm, “No, Sweets, just stay in the bed. I’m cold and tired.”

He laughs but it’s different than usual. Sweet Pea peels his jacket off and slips in beside you. Immediately you turn to face him and wind your arms around his waist, “Thank you. You’re warm.”

Sweets kisses your forehead and you see something hovering in his gaze, so you breach the subject and ask, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Sweet Pea answers immediately.

You shake your head and run your fingertips over his shoulder blades, “I’m not an idiot. I have been your best friend for almost two decades.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

Your hands maneuver to his cheeks and you can’t stop your thumbs from rubbing over his warm skin. His legs tangle with yours and you feel heat spring from your toes to your chest.

“I-If it’s about Evangeline, I’m sorry,” you push yourself away from him and feel tears soaking up your vision. “I didn’t mean to call you so late, you could’ve said no.”

“No, no, shh,” he brings you back in, tucking you under his chin, “that’s not it, I’m so sorry. Look, I just-” Sweet Pea hides his nose in your hair and takes in a deep breath, “I’m just mad Layton split on you and Eve. And it’s late, so I’m spewing crap. I’m sorry, let’s just go to sleep.”

“Sweets,” you speak desperately. You pull his cheeks so he’s looking at you and your heart is racing, “Please don’t do this, don’t shut me out.”

His lips press against your forehead and you feel your eyes grow heavy from his warmth, “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

One of his hands dips under your shirt and his palm is soft and hot against your back. He runs his fingers up and down your spine and it lulls you to sleep.

-

“I can’t believe you agreed to come to the game with me,” Sweet Pea throws an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you close and presses a quick kiss to your temple before looking down at the bundle in your arms.

“And you too, Miss Evie,” he pulls her beanie from over her eyes and kisses her forehead before settling back into his chair. 

A young couple comes up to you and squints down at your baby in your arms and smiles at her chunky cheeks, “She’s so beautiful! Looks just like her daddy, huh?”

You go to correct her, but Sweet Pea sits forward and thanks her, “She’ll be one in a couple of months.”

“She’s adorable,” the woman comments again before she and her partner walk to their seats.

You throw a look at Sweet Pea, wide eyes and raised brows, “What was _that_?”

He shrugs, “Can’t hurt, can it? We don’t know them.”

His arm is warmer around your shoulders as he tucks you into his side, Evangeline cradled between your bodies.

-

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Evangeline, happy birthday to you!”

Everyone cheers and you nudge Evangeline towards her cake that’s meant for her grubby little hands only. There are a few other mothers here with their children, but it’s mostly family - and Serpents.

“Happy birthday baby,” Sweet Pea holds one of her hands gently and pushes it into the frosting. She looks at him with wide blue eyes and begins laughing hysterically. Afterward, it’s every person for themselves as cake and frosting begin to fling all over the house. Luckily, you’d thought to protect your walls and floor with plastic tablecloths so the cleaning should be easy.

Sweet Pea grabs you around the shoulders and pulls you into his body, his arms warm and tight around your shoulders. He kisses your forehead and then your hair, a smile evident on his lips.

The party begins to wind down, all of the young children - and the mothers, too - worn out from the sitting outside in the sun and keeping up with their toddling tots.

One of the single mother’s you met in your support group comes to give you a hug, her daughter already in her carrier. She smiles, “I’m so glad you and Sweet Pea could find one another. Evangeline is going to love her parents.”

You open your mouth to tell her that Evangeline’s _father_  is an ungrateful coward, but Sweet Pea sidles up next to you and thanks her before you can get a word in.

You look up at him to question his antics, but his lips are on your cheek before he’s on the move again, helping out the mother’s put their children in car seats and carrying their bags for them.

Your hands are on your hips as you study him, his tall, built frame squatting underneath SUV trunks to load in frilly bags and tiny babies into their car seats. You can’t help the smile on your face, but you try to hold it back with your teeth against your lower lip.

-

As soon as the word slips from her lips, you feel your whole world drop out from under you.

“Daddy! Can’t catch me!”

You drop the dishes in your hands and Sweet Pea looks up from where he’s chasing Evangeline around in the living room to watch as the color drains from your face. 

He catches her by snatching the back of her shirt, her thick legs unable to balance her so she falls on her bottom. Luckily she’s still tiny and so the fall is relatively short. Sweet Pea picks her up and takes her to her play pen, the area roped off from the rest of the house.

“If you stay here and play by yourself for a minute, I promise I’ll play with you until bedtime,” he nods to her as he sets her down on her feet. Evangeline tries to pout, but realizes it won’t work and instead pushes herself up onto her tip-toes to press a sloppy kiss to his lips.

“Okay, daddy,” she hums, “I’ll be waiting.”

You’re not sure how your daughter became so articulate at the young age of two, but currently it’s not helping your situation.

“Sweets, I am _so sorry_ ,” you shake your head and start plucking up the large pieces of porcelain as he makes his way into the kitchen. Tears stream down your cheeks but you busy yourself with the clean up. “I-uh, I didn’t-I’m so sorry, she doesn’t know any better.”

“Hey,” he reaches across the space between you to help guide you out of your mess, “it’s okay. Like you said, she doesn’t know any better.”

Sweet Pea props you up on the counter, your knees open so he can fit between them. You shove your hands over your face and shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Pea. Really. I’m so friggin’ embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” he speaks softly. His large hands encompass yours, guiding them down so he can look in your watery eyes. He chuckles, his gaze softening the longer he has to take you in.

“How could she know any better, hm?” Sweet Pea asks you indignantly. He shrugs his shoulders, wiping your tears away, “Everyone else can’t even tell if we’re together or not. I practically _live_ here, sleep in your bed. How does she know that I’m not her father?”

“That’s my fault,” you whimper, your lip trembling as you realize what he’s saying. He’s trying to get out of your life, and he needs to. He doesn’t deserve this burden that you and Evangeline put on his shoulders. You nibble on your lips to try and create words, “I-I pushed you to do this, I wrangled you in here and I made you some sort of pseudo-father for her. I should have never-”

Your lips can’t form words because Sweet Pea’s mouth is on top of them.

You’re frozen and therefore you cannot react, which gives him the wrong impression entirely. You gulp and he pulls himself away from you, distancing your bodies and your mouths.

Instantly his face turns bright red and he tries to stammer out an apology. Instead of listening to it, you yank him by his leather jacket and seal his lips with your own.

Sweet Pea’s hands are on your hips, digging into your skin as if you were some sort of anchor, and your fingers are in his hair. His throat shakes as a groan escapes his lips, your name tumbling from his teeth.

“Sweets,” you whisper, feeling his mouth track down your cheek to your jaw. You can’t open your eyes as his lips trail over your skin, “Pea, I-”

“You what?” he asks, looking up at you through dark lashes. “Want me to stop? Want me to leave?”

Your fingers secure themselves in his hair, holding him steady so he looks you in the eye, “I want you to stay. Here.”

“I already do that,” he chuckles, his fingertips dipping under your shirt and searing your skin. You swallow thickly, “I-I mean _permanently_. I want you to live here and not have to go home to get more clothes.”

“Darling,” his voice is soft, softer than you’ve ever heard it before, so soft it almost breaks. You feel a tear drip over your eyelid and he catches it on his thumb.

“I-I _love_ you, Pea,” you push the words past your lips even though they’re not foreign between the two of you. “And I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with me, with us, in the past. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to - but I want to ask you to stay, to be with me, with us.”

Sweet Pea kisses you again, feverishly, his hands roaming over your back and biting into your skin. You gasp as his lips connect with your neck, your hands roaming over his abdomen to hold him closer.

“Mama! Daddy!”

You hear the slap of feet against the wood flooring, Evangeline’s tiny figure teetering in front of the two of you in the dining room. She giggles as she sees the two of you so close, “Pway now?”

Sweet Pea ducks his head into your neck and you feel his tongue swipe over your collarbone, unbeknownst to your daughter. You grind your teeth together and dig your nails into his sides. He winces, but chuckles against your skin.

“Yes, darling,” you smile as Sweet Pea retreats from his beloved spot on your shoulder. He turns and picks her up, twirling her before planting a comical kiss on her cheek with a loud _smack_. Evangeline giggles and you can’t help the grin that tugs your lips skyward.

Sweet Pea runs in circles around the living room and into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to look you in the eyes, “Oh, I love you too, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

You bite your lip, wondering how in the world you got so lucky.


	5. Bar!AU + Flirting Under Fire

How the Whyte Wyrm became Switzerland, you’ll never know.

After your high school years, you took off for a four year degree that was anywhere but Riverdale. Your mom got sick and you had to come back home, back to Riverdale.

Betty and Jughead never left, and neither did Archie. Josie made it out, as did Kevin, and you thought you did. Yet here you are, standing in front of the Whyte Wyrm.

“Stop being such a baby,” Jughead nudges your side with his elbow. “No one is going to care that you’re a filthy Northsider.”

Your jaw drops and he winks before pushing open the wooden doors and letting the sound out into the open.

“Aye, Jughead!” A chorus of people shout out. Jughead is apparently some sort of pseudo-leader of people now. His father may be sheriff, but he runs the town.

Jughead makes his rounds, his serpent jacket standing out in the neon lights of the Wyrm. He hugs and shakes hands, and while he’s busy, Betty leans into your shoulder and asks, “Wanna get a drink? He could take a while.”

Together you laugh as you make your way to the bar. Betty taps it with closed fists, “You know what to do, Sweet Pea.”

You can’t help it when your eyes snap up to meet the bartender’s. Your lips break out into a smile as you recognize who is standing behind the counter.

“ _Sweet Pea_?” you ask incredulously. In a second you’re reaching over the bar to wrap him up in a hug, or at least what you can grab of him, and you kiss his cheek, “Holy cow, it’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” he smirks, pouring two glasses full of liquid. “Years, huh?”

The scent of alcohol burns your nose but you can’t stop grinning. Sweet Pea is taller now, and he’s completely filled out from shoulders to toes. He looks stronger, healthier - he’s probably getting a full meal now that he’s on his own and he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. There’s a different light in his eyes now.

“How’ve you been?” you lean onto the bar with your forearms.

He goes to answer just as a table is flipped in the south corner of the bar. Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and walks out from behind the bar, “Fellas, c’mon! You’re paying for that!”

“SP, get over it!” a drunken old Serpent shouts from where he’s staggering behind the tossed table. Sweet Pea huffs, shaking his head, “Toad, c’mon. Go on home.”

A waitress walks by and Toad reaches out to grab her but she’s quick to snag him by the wrist and twist just enough to make it hurt. Three more older Serpents stand behind him, enforcers of some sort. Jughead materializes from where he was speaking with a few old classmates and stands beside Sweet Pea.

Someone does something too quick, makes a noise that someone else doesn’t like, and suddenly beer bottles are flying and pool sticks are snapping.

You find yourself dodging small knives and breaking wrists. You hurt some of them just enough to keep them down, to keep them from slashing at your ankles, and others you knock out against pool tables and the tabletop of the bar.

“Thought this place was Switzerland?” you shout over the commotion, catching Sweet Pea’s eye. He smirks over his shoulder at you, a devilish glint in his eye, “S’posed to be. Can’t always tame the snakes, sweetheart.”

“No,” you lick your lips and grin, “Guess you can’t.”

You’re back-to-back with Sweet Pea, pushing and shoving off of one another to help each other and watch one another’s backs. The adrenaline from hand-to-hand combat and the loud music playing in the background push you forward, making you bare your teeth as they try to come after you.

A few manage to slice at your skin, but the pain is but a blink as you grab one of them by the shoulders and slam them into the pool table beside you. You grab a pool ball and use it as a weapon, warning those who might try to best you.

“So, you come here often?” Sweet Pea shouts over his shoulder. You can hear the smirk in his voice. “I bet I can get the owner to give you a discount!”

“Oh really?” you project your voice over the music. Your lips tug up in a smile as you sweep an attacker’s feet out from under him. “He’s pretty hot, you think you could put a good word in for me?”

Sweet Pea falters and you reach across the space between your bodies to push the assailant away from him. He reacts a second too late and gets a knife to his hip, but the pain only pushes him further into the violence instead of distracting him from it.

“I, uh, I’ll think about it!” Sweet Pea uppercuts into an oncoming junkie, knocking them onto the floor. He steps over them to get to the next person, “Where did you learn to fight like this?!”

“Classes while I was in college! I, uh, I got jumped one night on my way back to my dorm and so I decided I’d never be taken advantage of again.” You have a half-moment to look at him, to catch his eye, before the carnage continues. The sadness in his dark eyes is palpable, but you smile to try and take some of the burden off of him.

“Well,” Sweet Pea grabs at his knife wound and you can see the pain that flashes over his features. He smiles up at you halfheartedly, “I think it’s pretty hot. Maybe you can give me some private lessons later?”

“Oh yeah?” you chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the sides. This was _not_ how you expected your night to go. You kick an ex-Ghoulie in the abdomen and send them reeling, “You telling me that you and all those muscles need tutoring on how to kick ass?”

Sweet Pea smirks, resisting the urge to grab your arm and haul you over to him, “Me and _all these muscles,_ huh?”

As if to rub it in, he flexes even more dramatically as he punches the next attacker. You laugh together and he steps over the unconscious bodies in front of him towards the bar.

“Now you’ve got me all hot and bothered,” he grunts as he hops over the top of the bar. He disappears for a moment before standing upright with a shotgun in his hands.

You can’t help the smirk that rolls your lips together or the spike of heat that burns in your belly. Sweet Pea cocks the gun and everyone’s head turns his way.

“Wyrm is closed for the night!” he shouts. He looks directly at you, “Got some personal business to finish up, and you assholes are pissing me off!”

Someone in the crowd lurches forward as if to challenge him, and Sweet Pea shoots the shotgun in their general direction but far enough away as not to hurt anybody.

The bodies scatter, what is left of them, and Jughead resurfaces from a corral of people who make their way out. He laughs, “Well, it’s been a while since the Wyrm has had a brawl like that.”

“Lotta help you were, fearless leader,” Sweet Pea snarls as he shoves the gun back under the bar. Jughead sighs, “What can I say? I missed the Serpent lifestyle.”

Sweet Pea chuckles and slaps Jug on the back, hugging him from the side. He shakes his head, “Well I can’t fault you for- _ah_.”

The tallest Serpent crumbles to his knees and you can’t help but fall with him. You hold his cheeks in your hands as you watch the color drain from them. His skin is normally so tan and warm, but it’s cold now.

“Sweets,” you whisper as his hand comes away from his side coated in blood. He licks his lips but they’re cracked. You feel heat in your cheeks and your eyes but you refuse to believe you’re crying over _Sweet Pea the Serpent_.

“Damn, I forgot about that one,” he chuckles, swallowing so thickly his throat bobs. You bite your lip and look up at Betty and Jughead, who are currently just as terrified as you. Something in you snaps and you steel your expression before turning back to the owner of the bar, “Can you walk?”

You manage to get him into the bathroom, sitting on the bathtub as you tend to his wound. Sweet Pea aches as he tilts his back away from you to give you more room to work.

“Take this off,” you mutter, tugging on his shirt. It’s sticking to the skin around his wound and getting in your way.

He smirks, even with the pallor gone from him skin, “If you wanted my clothes off, all you had to do was ask, babe.”

You cut your eyes at him but can’t stop the blush from coloring your cheeks, “Now is not the time, Sweets. You’ve been _stabbed_.”

“Eh,” he shrugs despite himself, “it’s just another Friday night.”

You stare him down and he raises his arms as high as he can with his given injury, “Alright, alright, I get it - you’re scary.”

Silence falls between the two of you as you go about swiping the crusted blood away from his wound and cleaning the area. Sweet Pea’s jaw clenches as you swipe the rag over the cut.

You look up at him, your bodies nefariously close. You blink twice to try and gather yourself but it’s not enough because he’s still _too close_ and you can’t breathe when he’s looking at you like that.

“Sweets,” your voice breaks as he touches your cheek with his shaking palm. You lick your lips and fight the tears in your eyes, “We should go to a doctor - a real doctor. Not me in this shoddy bathroom with a couple of wipes and some antiseptic.”

“Then I’ll have to report everything that happened tonight and I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” he says roughly, his voice breathless. Sweet Pea continues to grin at you despite the pain etched in his voice. “It’s just a bar fight, nothing to get too excited about.”

“ _Just a bar fight_?” you repeat.

He tugs his shirt over his head as if to try and distract you, and it almost works, because you’re looking at the contours of his body and the sinew of his muscle. Your mouth goes dry but you still speak, “Pea, I don’t-”

“S’okay,” he shakes his head, leaning closer to you. “Just do it.”

Sweet Pea drops his head to your shoulder and you pierce the first stitch into his side and tears leak from both of your eyes.

-

You’re wrapped up in a blanket, sitting in front of the fire, when Sweet Pea makes his way down from the loft. You’re quick to your feet, slotting yourself under his arm to guide him to the couch. You share your blanket around his shoulders and it’s easy as you fall together.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask him quietly as not to break the atmosphere.

“M’better now,” he answers. Sweet Pea looks up at you and you’re not sure if its the warmth from the fire or if he’s actually feeling better because the color is back in his cheeks. He nods in your direction, “Thanks to you.”

You lift up the corner of his shirt to examine your handy-work, but wince when you see the ragged stitches holding his skin together.

“I’m sorry,” you choke on your words, tears burning your eyes.

“Hey,” his voice is soft. He frames your cheeks with his palms and the blanket falls from his frame. “I’m the idiot who didn’t go to a hospital, or call the usual Serpent doctor. It’s not your fault.”

Sweet Pea’s forehead drops to press against yours and you feel his nose bump into your own. You bite your lip and squint hard enough to push all the tears from your ducts.

“Can we get back around to the part where you called me _hot_ earlier?” Sweet Pea smirks, staring you straight in the eyes. His hands smooth your hair back and he scoots closer to you so your knees are touching.

One of his arms releases you to bring your legs over the top of his own, despite the injury plaguing his hip. You grab his wrist and push it toward your hip, praying he gets the message.

“Are you planning on sticking around?” he asks, his voice vulnerable. Sweet Pea’s eyes give him away, blatantly telling you that he can’t do this if you won’t stay. He shakes his head, “I-I can’t-”

You lean up and touch your lips to his, your hands on the nape of his neck. Your eyes shutter closed and you feel the exhale of his gasp against your mouth. His teeth knock against yours as you pull away.

“I’m here,” you tell him. Your voice is solid, clear, and he knows that you’re speaking the truth.

“I-I’m sorry,” he shakes his head and chuckles thickly, eyes shining. Sweet Pea swipes under his nose, but misses the tear on his cheek. You smile and reach up to wipe it away, “Sweets, don’t go getting sentimental on me.”

He licks his lips to try and cover his smile, “I, uh, I just didn’t ever expect to see you back here.”

“I had to get away,” you shrug, brushing your thumbs over his cheek bones. “But now, for some reason, Riverdale has reeled me back in, led me back to everyone.”

“Maybe it led you back to me,” he whispers.

You snap your eyes up to him, a heavy weight sitting on your chest. His palm runs through your hair and he pulls you closer by your hip, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Sweets,” you shake your head and try to push the weight down into your stomach. You tousle your hands in his hair and that one lonesome curl still tickles his forehead. You smile, “I missed you. We spent a lot of time together senior year.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, his eyes tilting downward and away from your gaze. “We did.”

You gently tilt his chin upward so he can look you in the eyes again and there’s a cloudiness there that a Serpent would never show to anyone else. You lick your lips before admitting, “I didn’t know you felt the same.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” he whispers, tucking a stray lock of hair from your eyes.

You shake your head in agreement, “No, Sweets, it doesn’t.”

And then he kisses you until you’re breathless. 


	6. Royal!AU + Fake Marriage

“You know how I dread these parties.”

“Yes, Princess,” he smirks, “I know.”

You groan, picking up the excess of your dress as you walk the halls with your best friend and closest ally, Prince Sweetwater, less informally known as Sweet Pea - to you, and you only.

“It’s stupid - why do I have to have a prince by my side to be able to rule the country?” You snort, shaking your head as you make your way closer to the ballroom. “This whole _betrothed_ thing is beginning to hike up my skirt.”

Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and offers you his arm as you approach the doorway. You look up at him, placing your palm on his forearm, “I’m just glad that I have you by my side, Sweets. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

He kisses the back of your head and you motion for the guards to open the door and let the two of you enter.

Your entrance is grand, all the subjects turning to gaze upon the two of you in your magical dress as you descend onto the ballroom floor. You hold tight to Sweet Pea, unable to get the image of you tripping on your own dress out of your mind. You swallow thickly and guide him towards the table where drinks and snacks are currently calling to you.

“Prince Mantle is making his way over here,” Sweet Pea murmurs between his lips. His eyes widen, “What do you want me to do?”

“Take a drink with me,” you smile too exuberantly. The both of you take a glass of wine and put it to your lips. “Let’s dance.”

When you put your glass down onto the table, it is empty, and Sweet Pea can’t help but laugh. His arm falls delicately around your waist, depositing the half-full glass on the table before you sweep him away.

“You’re going to have to choose eventually,” he tells you as he twirls you around in the middle of the dance floor. Your bodies come back together and you hold onto him too tightly, as if someone were going to take him away from you.

“I can’t choose, they’re all poor decisions.” You look up at him through dark lashes and tears spring to the corners of your eyes. You shake your head, “I won’t be tied to someone for the rest of my life unless I love them. I won’t let them take my decisions away from me.”

“I know,” Sweet Pea holds you tight and you rest your cheek on his tunic, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to get entranced by the music. His body is warm, a heated blanket of life to keep you grounded to this world, to this earth. He’s always there to keep you steady when things begin to spiral.

You glance back up at him to look him in the eyes, “Why have you not been betrothed yet? You’re much older than most.”

A dark brow raises and he stifles an eye roll, “My father is young and my mother is in good health. Currently there aren’t any princesses in need of a prince that I can satiate. Nobody needs me.”

“I do,” you answer instantly. “I need you.”

He smiles but it is sad and does not reach his eyes, “Not like that, darling. Not like that.”

-

You hold the reigns of your horse tight between your fingers, the sun on your cheeks and the breeze in your hair. You look to your right, where Sweet Pea always is, and smile as you watch him situate himself atop his own steed, Peaches.

“Ready, Princess?” he asks you, a grin on his lips.

The two of you take your normal route through the woods and the meadow, stopping once there is sweat pouring down your backs and your horses are breathing heavy. Sweet Pea ties them up to a nearby tree in the shade that is close enough to the stream, unpacking the satchels on their backs.

“It’s nice to get away every now and then,” you tell him, laying down the blanket. This spot overlooks a small river and a beautiful meadow, teeming with life and growth. You look up, “I do hate being cooped up in that stupid castle all the time. When father is not attempting to bring me more suitors, I’m dressing up for a ball or working on my womanly talents.”

“Womanly talents?” Sweet Pea smirks as he grabs a bottle of mead from the basket. He chuckles, “Care to expound?”

You roll your eyes, “You’re too inquisitive for your own good, my friend. I have to learn how to sew and to properly tie a corset, etcetera. Nothing too exciting.”

“I think knowing how to hem a pair of pants is rather exciting,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow.

The two of you share a laugh and you remember why he’s your closest and dearest friend. The thought of you no longer being able to be together once you’re wed makes you sad.

Sweet Pea must notice the somber look on your face because he uses his thumb to tilt your chin skyward. “What is on your mind?”

“You,” you admit unabashedly.

He raises his brows and takes another sip from his drink. “Not what I was expecting.”

“I don’t want to live in a life with you not in it,” you tell him, trying to explain. You sit up straighter and press your hand to his knee as if imprinting the importance of this topic on his skin. “Once I’m married, you and I will no longer be able to disrupt parties and run away on horseback. They will take you from me.”

“You won’t need me anymore,” Sweet Pea shrugs as if it were simple. He licks his lips, “Once you have a husband, a king, I will no longer be necessary.”

The two of you stare at one another for a long time, birds chirping and bugs buzzing by while you sort out your problems silently. Finally, your eyes widen and your jaw falls slack.

“That’s it!”

Sweet Pea cocks his head as if trying to understand, “I-I’m sorry - _what_ is it?”

“We’ll pretend to court one another, of course!” You laugh, standing to your feet because you cannot bear the excitement while sitting. “If you and I are considered to be courting, the suitors will leave me alone, as will my father. We can continue our kinship without having to worry about those who would otherwise pull us apart.”

Your dark-haired prince looks hesitant and you wonder for a moment if he has a secret woman that he’s been seeing, or if maybe he doesn’t care about you as much as you previously thought. Your tongue sits heavy in your throat and you take a step backward, feeling wounded.

“We- _never mind_ ,” you shake your head, “I apologize, I went too far.”

“No, no.” Sweet Pea waves his hand in your general direction as his brow furrows. “It’s just - we cannot court one another for the rest of our lives. People will eventually expect us to get married.”

“We’ll get married, then!” You shout as you throw your hands in the air. You laugh, “I’d rather be wed to my closest companion than some stranger who could care less about me and only takes my hand in marriage for my kingdom.”

“What about wanting to love the person you marry?” he asks you, standing to his feet as well. He nears you, grasping your hands and holding them tight. “I cannot be that for you.”

You shake your head, “I love you in my own way. The specifics do not matter.”

“You will have to sire me a child, do you not understand?”

“Then I will do it!”

Sweet Pea cups your cheeks, looking very seriously and very frightened as he implores you with his logic. “Please think about this. This has consequences - _permanent consequences_. I do not think it-”

“Will you?”

His fingers slip from your skin and you find yourself missing their warmth. Dark brown eyes skirt around your face, trying to track down exactly what you’re insisting on.

A sappy smile turns his lips skyward and his thumb traces your lip, “I will do anything for you. Always.”

-

The news of your courtship to Prince Sweetwater spreads quickly.

It is apparent that many people already suspected a secret entanglement was going on prior to the announcement. You smile as you read the parchments decreeing your kinship.

“Mantle is pissed,” Sweet Pea smiles as he approaches you on the balcony. “As are some of the other more southern kingdoms. It seem they wanted you to wed their prize princes so they could reap the benefits of the rich land you live on.”

“Everyone only wants to take advantage of what they can leverage.” You grin up at him, a warmth settling in your stomach, “They cannot leverage me.”

“I won’t let them,” Sweet Pea says fiercely. You believe him.

Your fingers reach up his chest to his neck, toying with the hair rested on the nape of his neck. You smile, “A ball is going to be held in our honor, Prince Sweetwater. Would you like to be my companion?”

“I thought that was already decided,” he smirks, pulling you closer. He nods, “We’re going to have to practice, you know.”

“Practice what?”

“Touching, kissing, whatever it is that those in courtships do at these sort of events.”

The thought of Sweet Pea’s hands on you in a more than platonic way sends a shock down your spine and you find your body inching closer to him until you’re flush with his abdomen. You pray he does not notice.

“Well, according to the general population, everyone already thought that we were together prior to the announcement. I don’t know that we have to convince them of anything, really.”

Sweet Pea smirks, “You afraid to kiss me, Princess?”

Your cheeks burn with color and you push him away from you, turning to look out on the balcony and into the night. The stars are suddenly very interesting as you try and focus on pushing the thought of Sweet Pea’s lips on your mouth, your body, away.

“I’m not afraid of anything.” You steel your voice and pray your expression reflects your tone. He reaches around your back to press his palm on your hip, anchoring you to one another, as it always has been.

“I know you’re not, I’m just teasing.”

He kisses your temple and then tucks you under his chin. The deep breath that he takes pushes his chest into your arm, so you turn to be planed against one another. 

The ball takes a week to prepare for. The kingdoms are bringing in excellent meats and fruits along with exotic wines in honor of your courtship. You find it all very flagrant and unnecessary, but no one else knows of your arrangement with the prince, and therefore you must act as if this were any other courtship.

You have been dressed in a beautiful blue ballgown with roses sewn around the neckline and down the sheer fabric that covers your arms. Your escort leaves you as you stand in front of the double doors, your Prince awaiting on the opposite side.

You take a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with air as the finality of what you’ve decided to do settles in your chest. You force the tears that are pricking at the corners of your eyes to be gone, unwilling to destroy your perfect makeup.

You go to push on the doors to signal your entrance when a cloth is slipped over your mouth and nose and the entire world slips into black.

**_(considered making this a two part series but i am The Worst at part two’s.. so here you go!)_ **

On the other side of the door, the crowds wait and Prince Sweetwater nervously bounces from foot to foot as he rationalizes what is taking you so long. Surely you haven’t gotten cold feet, not since this was your idea. Maybe they are taking too long trying to do some last minute alterations on your gown. Or maybe your shoes are difficult to walk in.

Anything other than what is digging at the back of his mind.

“My King,” he approaches your father, “I think-”

Suddenly the double doors open and a handmaiden comes through screaming and crying out, “The princess has been taken! The princess has been taken!”

Sweet Pea’s blood runs cold. On instinct alone, he bolts out of the ballroom despite the cries of everyone else telling him he needs to be kept safe as well. He sprints down to the stables, mounting the princess’s horse and kicking her in the belly until she begins to gallop towards the castle walls.

He makes a silent vow to himself that he will not lose you on this night, or ever again in this lifetime.

-

You wake in a cold, dark room that you assume is a cave somewhere in the outlying property of the kingdom. A man stalks in front of you, armor clinking as he paces. You cannot make out his face in the darkness, so you try to take a step closer.

Your legs burn and your wrists ache. You look down to see chains wrapped around your body, binding you to the wall. Your lips are cracked, blood seeping from the corners. You want to cry but you don’t have it in you.

“What the _hell_ is going on!?” you scream, trying to get the man’s attention.

He does not flinch and you feel the weight of the kingdoms bear down on your shoulders. Your arms are tied behind your back, another large chainlink attaching them to the wall behind you. It looks to be made of stone, so you assume that you’re in a dungeon or a cave of some sort.

“Where is Sweet Pea?” You cry out as you yank on your arms and legs. “Did you grab him as well? Tell me!”

The guard turns to look at you and his face brings forth some sort of tugging in your chest as you realize you know who he is. You tilt your head, anger sparking in your stomach. No matter how hard you writhe and attempt to slither out of your bindings, they do nothing but bite into your skin and make you bruise and bleed.

“Let me out! My father will have you beheaded for this!”

“Why would your father kill the man who holds his daughter’s fate in his hands?”

The voice chills you to the bone and you suddenly forget how to breathe.

“R-Reginald?” you huff out his name in disbelief.

Prince Mantle’s figure materializes from the shadows and your head spins. He smirks, a devilish glint in his eyes, “I had help, of course, but in the end I will be the one who gets your kingdom.”

“H-Help?” You lick your lips to try and make speaking easier, but your throat is dry thanks to the night air.

Another, more slender, figure approaches you from the darkness. You’re even more surprised to see Princess Veronica, a soon-to-be queen from the Southern country. Her skin is tan, hair dark, and you wonder for a moment just what she may have to gain from this alliance.

“Reginald and I will be married in the fall,” she smirks, raising a brow to you. “Your kingdom will make a nice addition to our empire. After we kill your father and hold you captive for the rest of your days, of course. Too bad your mummy didn’t make it out of childbirth to provide him with more offspring.”

She reaches out and frames your jaw with her slender fingers, “Siblings of yours would have made this a little more difficult, I’ll admit.”

You surprise her by turning your head just enough that you grab her thumb in the bite of your teeth and clamp down until you taste blood. She screeches and jerks her hand away from you, holding it gingerly against her abdomen. You can’t help the grin that paints your lips as you spit her blood out on the ground.

“You made a _big_ mistake,” you say quietly. You shake your head and try your hardest to hide the amount of pain you’re in.

Prince Mantle crosses his arms over his chest, ruffling his tunic, “I don’t think you understand, Princess. We’re going to kill your father and take your land.”

“Taking me won’t be enough, Mantle.” You forego the pleasantries given the circumstances, “Killing my father won’t even be enough. You can’t leave me alive or else this will end poorly for you. But it seems you can’t kill me until you know that your plan has worked.”

“Wh-What do you mean?” he snaps, his voice echoing against the cave walls.

It is your turn to smirk now. You lift your head despite the crick in your neck, “You left Sweet Pea alive.”

The both of them glare you down, attempting to hide their fear held captive in the whites of their eyes. Mantle shakes his head, “No- he was supposed to be taken care of first.”

“Did you let that imbecile Moose lead? Specifically when I told you _not to_?!” Veronica shrieks, pushing her hands into his chest. “If he’s alive-”

“Even if he is alive, I have the knights standing guard outside. He’ll never make it through all of them. There’s no way.”

Veronica shakes her head, clearly disappointed, “If your stooge of a compatriot ends up distracted by another prince again, I will kill you before you ever have the chance to slip a ring on my finger, Reginald. You will not destroy our plans with your inept help.”

“The _guards_ , Ronnie! Archie is leading them, he’s the best we’ve got.” Mantle reaches out and takes her by the shoulders and you watch as she looks up into his eyes.

Something hardens there, because suddenly she is reaching for his dagger and pointing it at your throat, “You’re right.”

“I know I am,” you swallow. Your body struggles with the reality that this may be the night that your life ends. “Just kill me, get it over with. My father and the Prince will stand down if you bring them my head.”

Your hope is that somehow, even with you gone, they can find a new heir and Sweet Pea can lead a revolt against this Southern kingdom pair. Maybe if you’re out of the way, they can finish what Reginald and Veronica have started.

There is a scream from outside and you all turn your heads to the entrance of the cave. The candlelight flickers on everyone’s faces and Veronica seethes to Reginald, “Go check on it. Now.”

“Give me my dagger,” he reaches out his hand.

Veronica considers this for a moment, but before she releases the dagger into the hands of it’s owner, she plunges it through your stomach.

You can’t even cradle the area to try and staunch the bleeding thanks to your shackles. You bite down on your own teeth, trying your hardest not to show weakness. Blood pours from the wound and Veronica turns to hand the dirtied blade back to Reginald.

She smirks, “If we take care of this quick enough, maybe we can bring her to her king with the last breath of life still in her chest.”

You choke on the blood that comes curdling up your throat and onto your tongue. It tastes exactly how all the knights explain it might, iron rolling around on your tastebuds as you feel life drain from you at the very origin of your wound.

“Veronica,” your lips part, “Sweet Pea is going to kill you. Both of you.”

She shrugs, but you can barely see her through your blurred vision. Her voice still has that same sweet quality to it even though the words she speaks are vicious, “I don’t care about you, I just want your kingdom.”

Reginald watches as the color in the princess’s cheeks begins to dim. Veronica turns on him and shouts for him to check out the noise, but all he can feel is numbness in his arms and legs at the reality of the princess possibly dying.

 _This wasn’t part of the plan_ , he thinks.

Reginald doesn’t have time to think, though, and so he pushes his way out of the cave and to where the watchmen are stationed.

“What the hell just happened?” he asks, approaching an archer with his bow raised to his lips. The archer shakes his head, “We aren’t sure. Our people are being taken, killed, and we can’t find the perpetrator.

“It’s that lousy prince,” Reginald seethes. He takes a deep breath and bares his dagger, “Come with me. Bring more.” 

A small group follows him, swords unsheathed and arrows notched. Prince Mantle faces forward as they walk down towards the bridge that is the only entrance in and out from the cave.”

“They had to come in through here,” Prince Mantle reasons. He sighs, “There’s no one on the bridge - you swear you did not see a soul, knight?”

The guard shakes his head, “No, and yet out people are still being scavenged by the shadows.”

Just as the words leave his lips, men begin to pour from the underside of the bridge, unable to be seen to the untrained eye in the dark of night. They brandish swords and daggers, baring their teeth as they rush towards the knights and archers.

At the forefront, Prince Sweetwater, eyes ferocious with a snarl on his lips.

He stares straight into Mantle’s eyes as he speaks, “Where is she?”

When Reginald does not answer, Sweet Pea charges at him as his band of fighters push away those surrounding the opposing royalty. He takes Mantle by the collar of his tunic and raises him in the air.

Reginald gasps, trying his hardest to bring the knife in his hand down against Sweet Pea’s skin. Pea grasps the knife and slams Reginald onto the ground, straddling his waist as he pins his arms with his knees. His nostrils flare as he looks at the dagger, noticing the blood.

“If you hurt her-”

“Too late,” Reginald sneers. He laughs and Sweet Pea grabs him by the throat, cutting off his sounds.

“I would have your head right here, right now,” Sweet Pea glowers. He brings his lips to Reginald’s ear, “But we will have a public execution for you.”

He slams his fist into the prince’s head and has one of his men take Reginald to a safe place until the fight is over. Sweet Pea brandishes his sword and begins to hack at those who would oppose him. He gets slashes on the arms and legs, narrowly missing an arrow to his head, but nonetheless he pushes through until he gets to the cave entrance.

Sweet Pea kicks down the door and before him stands Princess Veronica Lodge, blood on her hands and your body nowhere to be immediately found. He raises his sword to her throat, “Where is she?!”

Veronica’s jaw shakes and instead of speaking, she points.

When Sweet Pea’s eyes glance to the side of the cave where your limp body hangs, blood spilling out of you, she tries to take advantage of the moment and steal his weapon.

Instead, the prince uses the butt of the sword to land a harsh blow to the side of her head, rendering her unconscious.

He rushes to your side, slashing the chains off of your extremities and watching helplessly as your body crumbles to the ground. Tears surface to his lids as he holds your lifeless body in his arms. He sobs, pushing down on your wound.

“Please no,” his body quakes under the pressure, blood seeping through his fingers.

You force your eyes open and you smile up at him, “Sweets?”

“Oh my God.” The relief in his voice is enough to give you some small amount of rejuvenation. His lips are on your forehead as he keeps pressure to your stab wound.

There is horror in his eyes as your gazes meet one another. You laugh, blood bubbling in the cracks of your lips, “You come here often?”

The strain makes your breath shudder and you wince, blood gurgling in your throat. You lick your lips but there is no relief from the taste of iron and death lingering on you tongue. You swallow what you can and look up at him, “Pea, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay-” He shakes his head and cradles your neck in one hand while the other stays planted on your stomach. “You can’t leave me yet. We’re supposed to get married.”

“Now you don’t have to,” you smile, leaning into his touch. The world begins to grow cold and you fear your time is running out. You look up at him with your last breath, “I love you, Pea.”

Your mouth falls slack and he crumbles atop your body, knights and archers flooding the room. He sobs into your skin, the words too late on his lips, “I love you too.”

-

It is two weeks before any semblance of normal returns to your kingdom.

Sweet Pea paces the room, his hand covering his mouth. Your father reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m so sorry it had to come to this, Prince.”

“Your Highness, how could we have known?” Sweet Pea snaps, forgetting his place. He shakes his head, “Mantle was pursuing her for months, relentless. How were we supposed to know that he would shift like this?”

The king sighs and looks lost for words. Your body laying a few feet away distracts him for a moment, but eventually he turns his eyes back to the young prince.

“People will do crazy things for power, my boy.”

Sweet Pea nods, returning to your side. He takes your hand in his own, unwilling to leave you unattended for more than a moment. Your father cannot help but laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he whispers, “Crazy things for love, too.”

Your eyes are heavy but eventually you force them to open. You weren’t sure that Heaven would look so much like your chambers from the castle, but it is comforting to know that even in the afterlife you have a piece of home.

You blink and then a figure is looming over you. Dark eyes and tan skin are easy to recognize, but you were sure that he was fine the night that you died. You reach up and cup his cheek, “Pea? What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, shocked. You feel his touch reach your jaw, “I was waiting for you to wake.”

“Wake?” you echo. You blink blearily, taking in your surroundings. “How are you here? I thought the afterlife was only for the dead.”

“The after- _what_?”

You nod, “I died that night. Veronica ran me through with Reginald’s dagger. I died in your arms.”

“Yes,” he answers somberly. His fingers brush over your brows and nose, down to your lips. He lingers there for a moment, “We had the healer and a witch work on you for hours. Were you dead for a moment longer, you would have been gone from this world. Instead, you’re here.”

You sit up quickly, your world spinning. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, “I-I’m alive?”

Sweet Pea’s face mirrors your own, tears pouring down his cheeks as he takes you in, “Yes, you’re alive.”

Without missing a beat, you kiss him on the mouth and ask when you part: “Marry me?”

His lower lip trembles and he laughs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Despite the doctor’s wishes, you kiss him until your breath is hard to find. His hands are in your hair, his hips above your own as he lies in your bed. You hold onto his waist tightly, unwilling to let him go from your grasp ever again. 

Sweet Pea’s mouth seals your words in your throat, the idea of parting from you the furthest thought from his mind. Instead, the only idea that plagues him is one of you sharing a bed, sharing a life, sharing a family and sharing a throne. He cries as he kisses you and you cry too. 

“I love you, Pea,” you repeat your words from the night you died.

He nods, pushing your hair out of your face. The color is back in your cheeks and he’s never felt so alive in his life. The muscle in his jaw trembles, “I love you too. I always have.”

“And I will always love you,” you echo at your wedding ceremony three months later. 

Sweet Pea’s hands are in yours and you both are smiling with tears in your eyes. You never thought this day would finally come, but here it is. You’ll commit it to memory and tell your children of the epic love story their parents endured to find one another again.

Flower petals rain around you as your lips find his, slotting perfectly. The ring on your finger weighs heavy but you don’t mind the diamond that sparkles in the afternoon light.

His nose nudges against yours, teeth playfully nipping at your lips, “I will never leave your side again.”


	7. Anger Born of Worry + Pregnancy!fic

“You promise you won’t tell him before we have the party?”

Toni smiles, her eyes bright, “Are you kidding? I can’t wait to see his face!”

You nod, “Me either.”

Sweet Pea proposed to you a few years after you graduated high school, right after you got back from college. You returned to Riverdale with a degree you could use and you helped to clean up the Southside. You worked with Toni, Fangs, Sweet Pea and other Serpents to fix up the construction and get some money flowing back through the Southside.

It wasn’t long before you got married, and Pea bought the mechanic’s garage and the Wyrm with money he’d been saving up from rather unsavory activities. At least Peabody paid good money for those drug runs back in the day.

Now you’re hiding a very big secret from him, but it’s for his own good.

“Babe, promise you won’t be late?” you echo through the phone receiver. Pea looks up to the body in front of him, bloody and battered but still breathing, “Yeah, promise.”

You weren’t aloof to the premise of what his Serpent duties involved. You chose not to get too involved – you weren’t the clean-up crew, you weren’t the intimidation warden, and you weren’t the voice of reason through it all. You were just the person who kept the Whyte Wyrm in business, who kept Switzerland up and running while the Serpents on the ground did the dirty work.

Currently you’re pouring shots at the Wyrm while Tony sets up the entire getup with balloons and confetti spread around. You can’t keep the smile off your face as you realize the gravity of what you’re going to tell Sweet Pea. He won’t have to stop what he’s doing, of course, but he will have to understand the consequences of his actions.

 _He’ll have more to fight for,_ you tell yourself.

The demon on your shoulder whispers: _Yes, but he’ll also have more to lose._

The clock chimes nine and you’re sitting on the back porch of the Wyrm waiting for Sweets to arrive. The longer you sit, the more nervous you become. Your hand instinctively presses over your stomach as your toe nudges the gift box sitting in front of you.

It’s nine thirty and you still haven’t heard from Sweet Pea, but you do know that he was out on a job and you’re sure that it just ran late.

Your head lolls against the porch post and you find yourself fading in and out of sleep around ten fifteen. You lick your lips and clutch the box in your hands, keeping it safe as if your life depended on it. You tell yourself it will just be a moment that you’ll close your eyes, but sooner rather than later you’re jolted out of sleep at close to eleven.

Your phone rings and the sheriff’s phone number populates on your screen. Your heart leaps into your throat and you answer the call with shaking fingers.

“Yeah, FP?”

“Sweets is down at Riverdale General.”

You don’t listen to the rest of what he has to say, instead running inside to grab Toni and ride with her to the hospital. The ride is silent, your eyes drawn to the woods in the distance to try and keep your mind occupied as you count the trees. The package sits in your lap and you are digging into the paper with your fingernails, but you don’t care.

“Where is he?” you ask frantically, noticing Fangs and Jug leaning against a wall up the hallway. You smack Fangs on the arm, “Where is he?”

His eyes are dark and sad, which does nothing to quell the acid rising in your stomach, and he points to the room across the hall with _Sweet Pea_ written on the white board. You push through the door, not caring if anyone else is in there.

“Pea,” his name bubbles from your lips.

He groans, blinking up at you slowly. His eye is cut and his cheek is bruised, but otherwise he looks cosmetically okay. You’re sure that there is internal bleeding or cracked ribs, but you don’t care because he’s still breathing and you still get to deliver your news.

“Baby, I’m so-”

You shake your head and grab his hand, unbeknownst to the battered knuckles that are covered in gauze. Tears spill over onto your cheeks and you kiss his wrist, gushing breaths as you try and calm yourself. You laugh thickly, toying with your lower lip, “You’re okay?”

Sweet Pea nods and croaks out a sad, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

That’s all you need to stand to your feet and grab him by the hospital clothes, seething between your teeth, “You’re lucky I don’t kill you myself, Sweet Pea. I can’t believe you! I _told you_ to be somewhere!”

He raises his arms in defense, eyes wide as he listens to your tirade. The machines begin beeping quicker, signaling his heart rate increasing. Still, you continue berating him for his lateness and his injuries.

“I thought you were _dead_!” you poke your finger in his chest despite his wince. You purse your lips, “I waited outside the Wyrm for _hours_ , Pea! I was worried _sick_ about you!”

“I know, I know, I-I’m so-”

“And another thing-”

“Babe,” Sweet Pea reaches out and grabs your wrist, grimacing at the contact. He looks you in the eyes, “I’m sorry.”

You take a deep breath and tears surface to your eyes, and suddenly you _really_ hate the journey your hormones are taking you on. Your shoulders shudder and you fall into the chair beside his bed, running your hands through your hair as a small sob shakes your chest.

Sweet Pea sits up in his bed and reaches out to you, his hand on your knee. He swallows thickly, “Baby, what’s really wrong?”

“Baby,” you echo, looking up at him through watery irises. You lick your lips and cover his hand with your own, remembering the package that’s sitting by your feet. A whimper escapes your mouth and you reach down to pick up the box wrapped in celebratory paper.

“Did I forget…” Sweet Pea looks up at you quizzically. He takes the package from your hands and pauses before slipping his finger under the slit in the paper. “Did I forget something?”

“No,” you shake your head as you try to contain your smile.

He chuckles, gnawing on his lip as he goes about ripping open the box. Underneath all the thorns and spikes, Sweets is just what his name suggests. You know a different side of him, one that appears after the jacket is slipped off his shoulders and you’re in his arms.

The package is broken open and the confusion on Sweet Pea’s face is priceless. You break into a grin, holding your hands over your face as he rifles through the items in the box, covered in tissue paper.

The first item is a green onesie with the words “new to the tribe” curled around a cartoonish giraffe. His brows knit together, creases appearing on his forehead as he runs his thumbs over the fabric. Sweet Pea darts his eyes at you for a fleeting second, recognition smoothing out his features.

He buries his hands deeper in the box, pulling out a small pair of black combat boots tiny enough to fit infant feet. Tears pool in his eyes and he looks up at you one final time before speaking, “What the hell is going on?”

“What the hell is going on is that I’m pregnant.”

Sweet Pea’s jaw drops, and you can’t help but laugh at his facial expression. You rise out of your chair and he sits up in the bed and you come together in a hug. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and he buries his head into the crook of your neck. You hold one another tightly as you realize that your world has suddenly been changed forever.

He pulls back from you and grabs at your face, holding you steady between his fingers, “I-I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder. You giggle as you hold eye contact with the love of your life, now the father of your child. “Neither can I.”

Sweet Pea pulls you closer and crushes his mouth to your own. His lips meld with yours and your heart surges at the feeling of him invading all of your senses as if you were teenagers again, making out against the bar at the Wyrm. You grin against his lips and feel his palms roam over your barely-there belly.

You lean back, “You can’t even tell yet, Sweets.”

“I still _know_ now, though.” He laughs, eyes bright as the smile reaches the entirety of his face. Dimples embed in his cheeks and he stares down at your stomach, his eyes glittering. Tears spill over and he looks back up at you, “I’m so sorry I messed this up, doll. I didn’t know-”

“I know, I know,” you nod in response, rolling your eyes. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for freaking out on you earlier.”

Sweet Pea kisses your forehead and then your lips, lingering on the latter. He swallows and his throat bobs, “I can’t wait to meet our baby.”

_Three months later_

The bed is warm where his body lays. Your legs tangle together and his lips are against your forehead, kissing as much of your face as he can. He laughs, brushing his thumb over your navel where the slightest of bulges grows.

“We’re _not_ giving them a Serpent name,” Sweet Pea shakes his head. He grunts, “Forsyth Pendleton? _Fangs_? _Sweet Pea_?!”

Brown eyes connect with your own, “I mean, what the actual _hell_? Who thought those were a good idea?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug and join in on his giggles. “But I’m kind of glad that I don’t have to fight you on this one. Maybe they’ll have a normal name like Jackson or Addison.”

You trail your fingers up his bare chest, ghosting over the curve of his jaw as you stare at his features, memorizing every freckle and scar. You lick your lips and run the pad of your thumb over his lower lip, “I love you, Sweets.”

“I love you too, baby,” he kisses your nose and then your mouth. The two of you mold together like you’re made for each other. Pea smells like he always does – musk, gasoline, and home. His mouth is familiar to you, something you’ve known and memorized for years now. As his teeth tear at your lip and his breath clouds your mind, your body reacts to him and pushes flush against his torso.

His arms wrap around your bare shoulders and his hips connect with yours, getting as close as you can with the bump separating your bellies. Sweet Pea’s nose bumps against your skin and his lips move as he whispers to you through the quiet of the room.

_Six months later_

“Why isn’t she breathing?!” Sweet Pea’s voice is more like a desperate cry, his hands gripping onto you for dear life. Tears stream down his cheeks and he looks to the doctors for some type of answer, but gets none as they skirt around your bedside and work on your vitals.

“We need to get him out of here,” the main nurse says as quietly as she can. She looks Pea in the eyes, “We need room to work, and you’re under a lot of stress right now.”

“Under a lot of st- _what_?!” Sweet Pea stands to his feet, his hands never leaving you. “You’ve got to be out of your mind if you think I’m leaving.”

After hours of sitting in the waiting room, the doctor finally walks through the doors.

Sweet Pea jumps to his feet, Fangs and Toni flanking him on either side. He’s six inches from the doctor, towering over him, when the older man speaks, “You can see her now.”

They push past him and head straight to your room, bursting in the door and drawing your attention away from the window. You hold your arms out and he falls into you, dropping his head to your chest as he cries into your hospital gown.

“I thought I lost you,” he whimpers against your neck. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He pulls back and pushes your hair away from your face to look you over, but suddenly he realizes that something, or rather _someone_ , is missing.

“Where is-”

“She’s right here,” a nurse enters with a purple blanket bundled around the tiny figure you’ve both waited almost a year to see.

Sweet Pea reaches out and takes her in his own hands, cradling her against his chest. He brushes his thumb over her cheeks and down her nose, tracing every one of her features as he drinks her in. In the meantime, he walks over to the side of your bed, gently bobbing up and down to keep her comfortable while he does.

Your smile spreads wide as you hear him murmuring to her. He finds his place in the chair next to you, tilting her upward so you can look her in the eyes. Sweet Pea gives her over to you, pulling her blanket over her toes when you hold her in your arms. He squeezes your shoulder and kisses your temple before wiping at his face to try and rid himself of the tears and snot that collected from reunited with you.

“She’s perfect,” you smile as you look over her face. She has his dark eyes and tan skin, her tiny hands huddled against her chest as she gazes around, presumably for something to eat. You chuckle and look up at him, “She looks just like you, what am I – a bread oven?”

“A beautiful bread oven,” Sweet Pea quips, winking down at you. “You did all of this, I just helped jump start the process.”

You snort, “Only you could make a motorcycle pun at a time like this.”

Sweet Pea kisses your lips, “Oh, you love me.”

“Yes, I do,” you answer. “Both of you.”


	8. Holiday!fic + Locked in a Room Due to Inclement Weather

You weren’t planning on visiting the mountains for Christmas, but your parents are taking a trip to Europe and your siblings are still in school, so you’re left with the rowdy crowd from the Southside. Cheryl has an extra house in the mountains – of course she does – and she offered it to whoever Toni wants to bring for the holidays.

 

Unfortunately, that also means Sweet Pea will be there.

 

The two of you have never gotten along, not from day one when the Serpents joined the Bulldogs at Riverdale High School all those years ago. You were vaguely friends with Betty and Archie, which meant that Sweet Pea had a natural aversion to ‘your kind’. He always sneered at you when you would pass one another in the halls, and when you and Toni started to become friends, he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to make a snide joke on your behalf.

 

Your bags are packed and you’re waiting on the front porch swing for Toni to come and pick you up. You’re pretty surprised when she shows up with a large black SUV filled to the brim with people inside. You’re not even sure that there’s room for you inside when you see everyone’s heads out the windows, screaming at you.

 

You laugh and they open the door, allowing you to clamber inside as Jughead puts your things in the back. Much to your dismay, the only seat that’s open is the one all the way in the back. So, you duck your head down and push through Cheryl and Toni in the middle and practically fall into the backseat.

 

“Watch it,” the voice in the backseat snaps.

 

Arms wrap around your shoulders and you look up to see Sweet Pea sitting in the window seat. The only open seat is next to him. You groan, rolling your eyes, “Great. Sharing a seat with a snake.”

 

Sweet Pea scoffs and shifts further into the seat as you make your way under your seatbelt to buckle yourself in. He doesn’t remove his arm from around the back of the seat, and you find yourself leaning forward just a touch so you don’t feel the heat of his forearm on your neck.

 

Everyone who isn’t driving passes around a bottle of liquor and you take a swig and pass it to Sweet Pea, but he waves his hand. You snort, rolling your eyes, “I’ll take your shot for you then, Sweets.”

 

You tip the bottle back and you _swear_ that you see a smirk on his lips before you hand the bottle back to Toni. She raises a brow and points out the window, “Why don’t we play a game?”

 

The group of you in the back play the ABC road game, seeing who can get to Z first. You’re on Q whenever you feel your eyelids grow heavy. You push yourself further into your seat, your knees on the row in front of you. When Cheryl protests, you feel Sweet Pea’s body stiffen and she sits back in her seat.

 

“I don’t need to be intimidated by the likes of you, you slithering snake.” Cheryl quips.

 

You poke your finger into her shoulder, “Cherry Bomb, shuddup. You’re just mad you don’t look this good in plaid.”

 

Sweet Pea snorts out a laugh and as you settle back in your seat, you feel his arm drop from the headrest to your shoulder. You look up at him, your eyelids heavy, “Sick burn for a Northsider, huh?”

 

Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and pats you on the shoulder, “Yeah, Northsider. S’all right.”

 

The next thing you know, your head drops back and your eyes fall closed, the steady hum of the car’s engine lulling you to sleep.

 

You wake up to the sounds of your friends trying to clamber out of the vehicle when Jughead parks at a rest stop. You roll your neck and then, in frustration, let your head flop back onto your pillow. You groan, tucking your arms in on yourself to keep warm as the doors open to let in the cold air blowing down from the mountains.

 

The things that makes your eyes split open is the hand on your shoulder and the warm body that you’re curled up against. You jolt upward, your seatbelt jerking against your neck and you begin to cough. Sweet Pea stirs beside you, lifting his head from the window.

 

He groans, “What the hell, man?”

 

You’re already climbing out of the car when he starts to speak, so he’s left with nothing but an empty automobile when he fully comes to. You walk inside and use the restroom, only to be bombarded by Toni Topaz herself as you exit.

 

“I see you and Pea getting cozy,” she nudges you with her hip. You roll your eyes and shake your head but he beats you to it with a shrug of her shoulders, “I’m just saying, you look to be getting pretty cozy with the Serpent himself.”

 

You make sure when you get back in the car that you cross your arms over your chest and look the opposite way from the window where Sweet Pea currently resides. He’s quiet, which isn’t abnormal, and you spend the remainder of your ride reminder yourself of all the reasons that you hate him.

 

To be honest, you can’t quite come up with many.

 

-

 

“We’re here, cadets!” Cheryl squeals, waking you from your half-sleep.

 

You wipe your eyes and sit up. Everyone is more alert now as Jughead brings the car around to the side of the beautiful log cabin. It’s intricate, beautifully built with a sense of nostalgia. The surrounding ground is covered in trees and looks over a lake now turned to ice in the cold month of December. There’s a fresh coat of snow on the ground and it makes the entire scene look like it should be in a calendar or an ad for a timeshare.

 

You’re too busy taking in the snow and the blue skies that you don’t notice an ice patch. Your foot skids and you think you’re going to spend the first day of this trip in the emergency room, but a pair of hands catch you by the armpits and haul you up just before you bust your backside on the ice.

 

Over your shoulder, Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and huffs as he rights you back to your feet. He grunts, “Watch where you’re walking.”

 

Your face turns bright red as he brushes past you to help unload the luggage from the back. You carefully take your steps across the snow, watching your legs more than anything else. The door is open as Toni and Cheryl step inside, Betty not far behind. Your face is overtaken by a grin as you look around and absorb the inside of the cabin.

 

“It’s beautiful, Cheryl,” you comment as you walk around and gently run your fingers over the furniture. You look up at the stairs, “That where the bedrooms are?”

 

“Yes,” she answers. Her red lips smirk, “Tee-Tee and I will take the bottom floor, where the master is located. Bughead will be upstairs, on the left, and you and Sweet Pea will be on the right.”

 

Sweet Pea drops the bags in his hands, “ _Excuse me_?”

 

“There’s only three bedrooms, darling,” Cheryl smiles but it looks forced. She drops a wink and grabs her frilly bags from the front door. “Did Toni not mention that?”

 

“No,” he grits out the answer as he turns to his female best friend. He narrows his eyes and grabs her by the arm to drag her off to the kitchen. Their squabble can barely be heard from the living room, but it’s very clear that they’re going at it.

 

“I think that’s Sweet Pea’s bag,” Cheryl gestures to a beat up brown leather duffle bag. You nod and pick it up in one hand and grab yours with your other hand. Cheryl shows you upstairs to where your room is going to be, and it’s honestly perfect. It’s rather unfortunate that your stay will be tainted with Sweet Pea’s bad attitude and angry disposition.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my stuff?” he barges into the room, snatching his bag out of your hands.

 

You resist the urge to smack whatever part of him you can grab for. Instead, you put on your meanest scowl and cross your arms over your chest, “You’ve got to be kidding me! I was trying to _be nice_ , Sweet Pea. You could at least _pretend_ to be grateful.”

 

He stutters, looking at you from the side of his eyes but keeps quiet rather than admit defeat.

 

The two of you survey the bedroom and take note of quite possibly the worst thing – there’s only one bed.

 

Instead of claiming the bed for your own, you take your bag over to the small couch and tuck your pillows against the arm of the furniture. You’re minding your own business when Sweet Pea approaches you, taking you by the elbow.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

 

You grit your teeth and look him in his eyes, “I’m being nice for the _second_ time today. You’re a lot taller than me, you can’t fit on the couch.”

 

“It would be really rude of me to make you sleep on a couch,” he offers, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m used to uncomfortable living spaces, I’ll be fine on the couch. You can have the bed.”

 

You take a deep breath, “Sweet Pea, it’s fine. I know you think because I’m from the Northside that it means I can’t handle a little adversity, but I’ll be all right.”

 

“I don’t- _ugh_ , you’re impossible!” He throws his hands up and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

You don’t wait around for him, rather you walk down the stairs and smell coffee brewing and you smile. Toni pours you a cup and you hold it in your hands just to warm you up. Steam billows from the cup and heats your upper lip, and you’re thankful that it’s the simple things in life that can lift your mood – even after Sweet Pea’s outburst.

 

“Where is the slimy serpent?” Cheryl speaks up after a moment.

 

“Oh,” you shrug, pursing your lips, “he’s probably sulking because I out-chivalried him.”

 

Toni laughs behind her palm. Jughead rests his arm over Betty’s shoulders and raises a brow, “What if we played a game?”

 

“Jug,” Betty warns. She tilts her head and you laugh at the insinuation. Jughead rolls his eyes, “I’m not talking about G&G, Betty. Don’t worry. I just mean we could play poker or something.”

 

“What’re we betting?” Cheryl pipes up, sitting elegantly on the elongated couch in the living room. Toni takes the spot next to her, pulling Cheryl’s legs into her lap.

 

Jughead scoffs, “We don’t all have a fortune like you, Cheryl.”

 

“It’s not fun if you don’t put some sort of value on it.” Cheryl argues with a pout. Toni rests her palm on Cheryl’s thigh and looks her wife in the eyes, “Babe, he’s got a point. Let’s just drink and play some cards.”

 

Cheryl pouts again but whatever Toni whispers in her ear satiates her long enough to start shuffling the cards. Jughead deals and you play a few rounds and drink a couple of beers before Sweet Pea finds his way down the stairs to join the group.

 

“What if we add stakes to the game?” Cheryl’s tone implies that she’s obviously bored. She looks around at the group of you gathered around the living room with brows raised and lips curved in a smirk. “Losers each have to admit one truth that none of the rest of us know.”

 

You roll your eyes, “Cheryl, none of us want to know what your favorite position is. But, for your sake, I guess we’ll play.”

 

She snarls as she deals out the first hand. You manage to win, leaving everyone else to play the truth game. They all admit something minor, like favorite colors or foods or childhood memories that sat with them for far too long.

 

That goes around for a few rounds until you’re all a little inebriated and you all lose a round to Sweet Pea. He smirks as he lays his cards out for you all to see, kicking his feet up on the table, “Spill.”

 

Betty talks about her black lace, Cheryl tells that she was the one to burn her house down in high school, Jughead talks about the night he cut up Penny Peabody, and Toni tells a snippet from her childhood. Sweet Pea looks at you expectantly and before you can register what you’re saying, you let a hefty secret fall from your lips.

 

“My mom is an alcoholic. She and my dad have been separated since it started a couple of years ago, but they don’t want anyone to know.” You laugh, as if it were any kind of funny, and continue, completely unable to stop. “She’s hit me a couple of times, and my dad doesn’t know, but I just feel bad for her.”

 

Sweet Pea sits up and you see something shift in his eyes. He takes a sip of his beer and looks at you over the rim of it. Cheryl licks her lips and shuffles the cards again, sighing, “That was a real downer, dweeb.”

 

Toni smacks her on the arm and gives her a look but you don’t see it because you’re dropping your cards on the table and walking up the stairs. You throw yourself onto the couch and cradle your pillow to your chest, silent tears slipping down your cheeks.

 

The door opens a moment later and you wave your hand over your shoulder, “Toni, it’s fine. Cheryl is just being Cheryl. If someone out-stories her, she gets pissed and takes it out on everyone else.”

 

“Not Toni, sorry to disappoint.”

 

“O-Oh, I-I,” you sit up and wipe at your face, suddenly very embarrassed. You swallow and look Sweet Pea in the eye, praying that you don’t look too pitiful. “I went too far, like Cheryl said. I should’ve picked something else.”

 

Sweet Pea makes his way to the couch, sitting opposite of you. He tilts his head, something somber sitting in his eyes as he looks at you. “I don’t think anyone was expecting that, is all. People don’t always react the right way to what they’re not comfortable with.”

 

“Is that why you hate me so much?” You laugh, rubbing under your nose. “Because I make you uncomfortable?”

 

He bristles, his muscles flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest. You shake your head and wave your hand in his general direction, “It’s all right, Pea. I get it. I-I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

 

Sweet Pea nods and pats your shoulder as he walks back to the door, “I’ll let you to it, then. I’ll go back down and tell them how you’re plotting Cheryl’s murder – should spice things up a bit.”

 

“Yeah,” you laugh thickly. “Keep her on her toes.”

 

He gives you one last glance before he closes the door behind him. Footsteps echo down the hall and you know he’s rejoined the others. When everything gets quiet again, you fall apart, tears coursing down your cheeks as sobs rack your body. You hold yourself around the middle, piecing yourself back together again like you always do.

 

You fall asleep cradling your pillow, curled up in the fetal position on the couch.

 

When you wake, you’re sprawled out on the king-sized bed, covered by a duvet. You turn to see Sweet Pea laid out on the floor beside you. He’s made a palette out of a couple of extra blankets and pillows he stole from the other side of the bed.

 

For some reason, you want to reach out and touch his cheek with your fingerprints, but you hold your resolve and stand to go to the bathroom and take a shower.

 

You take your time, soaking up the steam because you know once you step foot outside it will be freezing. You pull on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt that has a collar to help cover your neck. You grab your jacket out of your suitcase and notice that Sweet Pea has moved to the bed in your absence.

 

With a chuckle, you step out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Everyone is already down, fixing breakfast. Betty is on pancake duty, Toni is taking care of the bacon, and Cheryl is cutting up fruit. You sit at the bar, crossing your arms and leaning your chin against them.

 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Toni puts a plate of strawberries and eggs in front of you. She pats your arm and you nod in response, letting her know that you’re fine and you’ll be fine, regardless of how Cheryl acted out last night.

 

You’re almost done with breakfast when Sweet Pea makes it downstairs. You and Betty have decided to go into town and do some shopping while Cheryl and Toni occupy the hot tub out back. Jughead offers to go with Sweet Pea to a car show in town, so you agree to ride together.

 

Jughead drives and it’s a silent car ride into town given the hour of day and the lack of sleep you’re all experiencing. Betty leans over and kisses Jug on the lips before the both of you get out of the car and head towards the small downtown shopping center.

 

“So,” Betty draws out the word, “you and Sweet Pea?”

 

“Is this just a big set-up?” you laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself.

 

Betty shrugs, “Did it work?”

 

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “No. I slept on the couch and Pea took the bed. He still hates me, no matter how many sappy stories I tell.”

 

“I dunno, I think you’re making him soft,” Betty leans into your side. The two of you share a giggle before stepping into a boutique.

 

It’s nice to spend some one-on-one time with Betty, but you can only take so much shopping. Your feet ache and your stomach is growling loudly by the time you’ve gotten through most of the shops. Betty calls Jughead and lets him know that it’s time for you all to head back for lunch and it takes another twenty minutes for them to come back. You spend the time in a coffee shop, warm cups held in your hands to keep out the chill.

 

“Finally,” Betty teases as the two of you get back in the car.

 

Before too long, it’s nighttime again and the boys are building a fire pit in the backyard. Toni is stocking up on s’mores materials and you help her to carry it out to your friends. Sweet Pea has scoured for the perfect spears to roast your marshmallows.

 

You speak up about not being able to cook your marshmallow right and Sweet Pea scoffs and mutters something along the lines of, “We can’t all be perfect all the time.”

 

“You know what, Sweet Pea?” You slam your stick into the ground and stand to your feet, stomping in the snow. “I’m sick and tired of your bad attitude. You’re just as bad as Cheryl, if not worse. I never did _anything_ to you, and yet you can’t help but to cut me down every single chance you get.”

 

Instead of sticking around to listen to what anyone else has to say, you walk out to the mother-in-law suite that is located to the left of the cabin-slash-mansion. You don’t want to risk being able to bump into anyone after your outburst, you just need to be alone for a minute. You thought that Sweet Pea had begun to warm up to you, like Betty said, but the second you give him a little leeway he yanks the rope back.

 

You lean against the window and look out at the frozen lake glinting in the moonlight. The stars are glittering in the sky and fresh snow starts to fall outside. You know you won’t be able to stay for too long, you don’t want to risk too much snowfall barring you from being able to get back into the cabin. You’re not sure which is better, honestly, because if you go back inside then you’ll be forced to go back to your shared room with Sweet Pea. And he’s _definitely_ not the first person you want to see right now.

 

You’re alone for about an hour or so, snow now coating the windows and piling up in inches on the ground. You know you should go back inside, but something is keeping you here. There’s a small bed and a kitchenette, so if you absolutely had to, you could stay here for the night.

 

The door squeaks and you run your hands through your hair to try and calm yourself. You know your cheeks are red so you’re not ready to face whoever is at the door.

 

You turn to give them a piece of your mind whenever you come face-to-face with Sweet Pea himself.

 

You stomp your foot like a petulant child, shaking your head, “I can’t _believe_ you won’t just let me have this! Are you really _that_ _dense_?”

 

“ _Wow_ ,” he whispers in awe. Sweet Pea shakes his head and his hair falls into his eyes, “Here I am, trying to _apologize_ to you and you can’t even hear me out.”

 

“You don’t get to play the _victim_ here!” You shout as you step towards him. You poke your finger into his chest between his pectorals, “You don’t get to act like you being a total ass to me for the last like, five years, is _my fault_. You don’t get to do that, Sweet Pea.”

 

He doesn’t speak and you take the chance to snarl your lip and bare your teeth, “And while I have your attention – I’m sick of this childish act you’ve got going on. It’s obvious it’s something to do with me.”

 

Sweet Pea stiffens, his hands on his hips. He looks up at the ceiling while inhaling deeply. As he lets out the breath, he returns to look you directly in the eye with a piercing glare.

 

“And that’s how it goes, innit?” Sweet Pea sucks his bottom lip between his teeth before continuing, “It’s always _all about you_ , huh? You can’t take a step back for a _second_ and realize that maybe the world doesn’t revolve around you?”

 

He laughs sarcastically, sounding more like a bark than anything else, “You come in and you make everything about you, all the time, and it makes me sick.”

 

“I make everything about me?” You scoff. You step forward and narrow your eyes, closing in on him, “How _dare_ you?! I have tried _countless_ times to try and make you more comfortable. I avoid going to the Wyrm, I avoid going out to karaoke night, I avoid hanging out with Fangs too much because I know it bothers you. What the literal _hell_ , Sweet Pea?”

 

You can hear his teeth grind together due to your proximity. He shakes his head, “You came in and took my family from me, don’t you get it?”

 

There is a glassiness to his eyes and his lip curls, “You swooped in and took them from me. You came in and gave Toni another girlfriend, gave Fangs someone who’d watch The Notebook with him on _repeat_ ,” he huffs, shaking his head, “and you started cleaning up the Southside, making the Serpents even more ashamed of their home than they already were. And here you are, making _me_ out to be the bad guy.”

 

“Sweet Pea,” you reach out to touch his cheek but he whips his head away from you. His throat bobs and his breath is shaky, “Just…don’t, okay? You’ve done enough already.”

 

“Apparently,” you throw your hands in the air. You wipe at your cheeks before speaking up again, “Sweet Pea, I’m not a friggin’ psychic, you know?”

 

“I know!” Sweet Pea snaps, his jaw muscles trembling under the stress of the bite of his teeth. You widen your eyes but he does not stop. “I know, I get it. All I had to do was say something, right? But as soon as I said something, I made everyone else unhappy. If I said something, it would’ve meant you and Toni wouldn’t be as close as you are now. If I said something, you and Fangs wouldn’t hang out on Saturday nights.”

 

His eyes get darker as he speaks and you notice the blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. Your heart aches the more that he speaks, but you can’t crumble because he won’t let you. He _needs_ this fight for some reason.

 

“If I had told you that you were taking my family away from me, the Southside wouldn’t be getting better,” he shrugs in defeat. Sweet Pea leans against the counter and rubs his hands over his face. “It just makes me so angry that you did something I couldn’t, you gave the Southside something better than I could, and I’ve lived there my whole life.”

 

“That’s just the thing, Pea,” you step forward cautiously. You smile sadly up at him, “You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

 

He shakes his head, rejecting your suggestion, “What, so I just let the Northside _infect my home_?! I just let you come in and change things to your liking? You don’t know what the Southside needs. You don’t-”

 

“You all _need_ a place to live,” you fire back, regaining your confidence. Your nostrils flare and your body heats up at the gravity of the situation, the reality of what the Southside lives in. “You all _need_ functioning plumbing and jobs and a decent school that doesn’t facilitate drug dealing and early drop-outs.”

 

“So we need you, huh?” Sweet Pea sneers.

 

“Maybe,” you admit with a shrug.

 

“The Northside took my parents from me,” he snaps. Sweet Pea’s eyes are dark again and he looks down at you with a sadness in his soul that you can’t quite understand but you’re somewhat glad you don’t. “The Northside needed runners for their drugs because they couldn’t dare let one of their own take the fall for such a thing. My parents were trying to keep the heat on in our trailer, so they took it.”

 

Sweet Pea lowers his head so you are mere inches apart, “A Northsider ratted them out when the heat got too close, and then they were killed in prison.”

 

His eyes snap to yours and there’s electricity buzzing in the air. You start to respond when there’s a loud noise outside the door. You wrap your arms around yourself and he goes to carefully look out the window.

 

Only as he tries to open the door to inspect the sound, the handle won’t budge.

 

He groans, planting his palm on his forehead to cover his eyes, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“What?!” you begin to grow worried, panic evident in your tone. Sweet Pea looks across the room at you, “The lock is frozen and the snow is packed up outside of the door. Whatever had been collecting on the room sloughed off and is pressing against the front door.”

 

“What does that mean?!”

 

“It means we’re _stuck_ , genius. Of all the people to be stuck in a tiny house with, I’m stuck with _you_.”

 

“Seriously?! As if I want to be stuck here with _you_? You’re insufferable.”

 

“I- _I’m insufferable_?” Sweet Pea scoffs and narrows his eyes at you, “All you do is prance around and try to make everyone happy. Watching you try and suck them in with your innocent, Northsider act…It isn’t exactly original, sweetheart. And it doesn’t work.”

 

“ _Northsider act_?” you echo. Your brows knit together and you step closer to him, your hands in the air, “What makes you think it’s an _act,_ Sweet Pea? Maybe I’m just trying to be nice! Unlike you – who has to make every day of my life miserable the second you get the chance.”

 

“You haven’t seen miserable yet, doll,” he smirks. There’s a darkness in his eyes you can’t quite capture, but it pulls you in and makes you pay closer attention. Sweet Pea’s features smooth as he stalks closer to you.

 

“Really?” Your voice grows thick, “As if you trying every time we’re together to make it the worst part of my day? You’re always putting me down, reminding me that I’ll never be at home in your serpent den. You take every shot you can at me, belittling my attempts at trying to keep the peace. I do everything I can to get out of your way and it _still_ isn’t good enough! What more do you want from me?!”

 

“Here you go, making it all about you again.” Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and avoids looking too closely at you for fear of seeing the tears welling up in your irises.

 

He shakes his head but you beat him to it, “ _I get it_ , Sweet Pea. I’ll _never_ be good enough to run with you. Okay? I get it. I’ll stop trying to desperately get your attention.”

 

That stops him in his tracks and his eyes rake over your body in a way that sends a heat traveling upwards from your toes. You wrap your arms around your midsection and sniffle. Suddenly the room is too small, there’s not enough space between the two of you. His breath is warm against your forehead, his body the only source of heat in the freezing space.

 

“Get my attention?” he finally speaks.

 

“Yes, okay!” You push your arms against his shoulders and he topples back a few inches, but not much. Your voice cracks but you repair it, “I-I have been trying for _years_ to get you to like me, to get you to understand where I’m coming from, but no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough. I get out of your way, I did something to piss you off. I come to some sort of friendly function, I piss you off. I-I’m so tired of-”

 

You stop talking because there’s another pair of lips atop your own. Your body automatically melts against them, hands pressed flat to his abdomen as your mouth melds to his. His tongue touches the bow of your lips and you gasp, opening up to him.

 

He takes the chance to smirk against your mouth, “Pissed off is kind of my natural state.”

 

“It works for you,” you whisper, your eyes half-open. You glance up at him and you’re not sure why this feels so good, but when his hands slide over your shoulders to your hips, you can’t deny that your body is on fire.

 

Sweet Pea kisses you again, his thumbs brushing against your sides. He palms your back as you continue to kiss, enveloping yourselves in one another as the snow falls outside. Your noses bump and teeth knock, but you don’t care because your insides have twisted up into something beautiful that releases itself as tiny noises that escape your throat.

 

“I still can’t stand you,” he murmurs against your jaw as his lips pucker on your skin. His tongue presses flat against your earlobe, “Clear?”

 

“Crystal,” you breathe out the word as his hands cup under your thighs and pick you up just to deposit you on the countertop.

 

Sweet Pea nudges his nose along the column of your throat and your breathing hitches. You swear you can feel his smirk against your jugular as he traces his way down to your collarbones. He glances up at you but you almost miss it due to your eyelids fluttering closed, “You’re cute when you’re angry, by the way.”

 

“Pea,” you groan when his teeth bare against your shoulder, sinking into the skin there. He pushes your jacket out of his way and you go ahead and remove it, tossing it to the other side of the room. There are some sounds at the door, but you dismiss them as more snow falling in front of your only exit.

 

Your hands palm under his sweatshirt, trying to feel the curvatures of his muscles as they convulse under the stress of his arms holding you tight. You grapple with his hair using one of your hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes. His lips are full, swollen and pink and it makes something stir in your belly.

 

Sweet Pea goes to claim your lips again, but he’s interrupted by the opening of the suite’s door.

 

Unexpectedly, he steps in front of you and you grab the back of his shirt in a fist at the sound.

 

“I knew it!” Cheryl squeaks. “I knew if the two of you were left alone long enough, you’d be making cute little baby serpents.”

 

“Cheryl,” Sweet Pea points a finger in her direction.

 

Toni pushes past her and brushes snow off of her legs, “We helped Jug dig you guys out. We got worried after a little while. Wanna come inside? We lit the fireplace.”

 

Sweet Pea helps you put your jacket back on and he walks closely behind you as you make your way back to the main cabin. It’s warmer in there, that’s for sure, but nothing matches the embarrassing burn of a blush on your cheeks at the realization that you and Sweet Pea were making out when just minutes prior you could’ve sworn that you couldn’t stand each other.

 

Cheryl and Toni start to mix drinks while Jughead and Betty work out picking the best line up of movies for the night. You trudge into the living room with Sweet Pea, fidgeting with your fingers because his words still hang in the air: _I still can’t stand you._

 

You settle into the recliner, curling your legs up so your chin can rest against your knees. You look forward, unable to look him in the eyes because the anxiety crawling up your throat is too overwhelming. Betty slips in the movie _10 Things I Hate About You_ and you can switch your focus from the tall, brooding Serpent in the room to the television.

 

You wrap your arms around yourself and try your hardest to keep your eyes on the TV screen instead of Sweet Pea sitting across the room glaring a hole into the wall. You can feel his eyes wandering to you, and towards the end of the movie, he huffs and throws himself out of his chair. Toni turns to watch as he stomps up the stairs, his combat boots leaving an echo down the hall.

 

“You _broke_ him,” Cheryl sneers. “You _broke Sweet Pea_. Ha!”

 

Toni pushes Cheryl by the arm, standing up and walking towards the stairs. Your eyes follow her, but just as she gets to the base of the stairs, she looks over her shoulder and makes eye contact with you. Her lips are pulled in a tight line but her gaze is earnest.

 

You take the hint, picking yourself up out of the recliner and joining her as you walk up the stairs. She holds your hand as you hover in front of the door, unsure if you really should go in or if you should crash on the couch for the night.

 

“You break him, you fix him,” Toni whispers before opening the door for you and pushing you in.

 

You stumble, trying to regain your ground as you take it all in. Sweet Pea is pacing the room with the lights off. He’s mumbling under his breath but when he takes one look at you, he halts.

 

“What the hell? Can you not take a hint?”

 

Arms crossing over your chest, you take a step towards him, “Wow, Sweet Pea, how _considerate_ of you. It’s not like I left our friends downstairs so I could come up here and see what’s wrong with you.”

 

“Well then go back down there,” he shrugs, his tone biting. Sweet Pea’s throat bobs as his upper lip snarls. You roll your eyes and throw your hands in the air, “There is _no_ pleasing you, is there?!”

 

He huffs and crosses his arms, “Pleasing me? Hah! Try pleasing _you_. What’s the point?”

 

“What do you mean _what’s the point_?!” You cross the room and jab your finger into his chest. Your eyes narrow, “Are you really in here throwing a temper tantrum because I wouldn’t _sit with you_?”

 

“A temper t- _seriously_ , what are we, five?”

 

You snort out a laugh and retract your hand, shoving your palms under your armpits to keep from smacking him across the face. He shakes his head and waves his fingers in your direction, as if you aren’t worth his time. Your cheeks turn bright red and you fight off tears. You’ve about had enough of people telling you that you aren’t good enough.

 

“Whatever,” Sweet Pea scoffs. He walks towards the door, “I’m out.”

 

He barely has enough time to jiggle the knob before you’re spitting out: “Just like always, Pea.”

 

 _You’ve got to be kidding me, Topaz_ , Sweet Pea thinks to himself as the door doesn’t budge. He turns around on his heels to you, approaching you swiftly and making you shrink in on yourself.

 

“Watch it, Northside,” his upper lip curls into a snarl and his eyes deepen. He holds his index finger just in front of your body, a gesture that makes your rib cage want to disintegrate.

 

“Here we go with the Northsider crap again.” You roll your eyes and straighten your spine, “I get it, the Northside took your parents away from you. But you know what? They took mine too.”

 

His body goes stone cold, his hand dropping from the space between you two to his side. You let out a shaking breath and swallow your pride, “The Northside takes and it takes and it takes, so I just try to give back every now and then and here I am, met with the _unstoppable, immovable Sweet Pea._ I’m so _sick_ and _tired_ of you trying to dissect everything I do and twist it into some double-sided agenda.”

 

Tears leak over the edges of your eyes and your fingernails bite half-moons into your palms but you don’t care. You continue, “If you didn’t want me taking them away from you, maybe you should’ve shown us all that you cared!”

 

Sweet Pea’s face is mere inches from your own, his eyes unable to focus on just one part of your face as you stare him down indefinitely. His hands shake by his sides, pent up rage coursing through his fingers.

 

You grit your teeth and your lips tremble, “I am so over this rotten attitude you have, Sweet Pea. Especially when it’s targeted towards me-”

 

His mouth captures yours and you find yourself grasping him by the lapels of his leather jacket for just a moment too long before you push him off.

 

“You can’t just kiss me every time I make you angry,” you lick your lips and take a step back from him. You sniffle as angry tears wet your face. “I-I’m not some-some _thing_ that you can keep quiet when I piss you off.”

 

Sweet Pea tilts his head and you watch as his eyes soften. He takes a step toward you and reaches out but you yank your arm away. The pain that jolts through his features makes you want to be sad but you can’t make yourself feel anything other than hurt right now.

 

“You’re right,” he whispers. Sweet Pea’s throat bobs as he looks at you, imploring you to listen to him with just the look in his eyes. “I-I’m not normally this _bad_ at explaining what’s going on in my head, but something about you just-”

 

“Pisses you off, I know,” you shake your head and roll your eyes.

 

Sweet Pea takes his thumb gently under your chin and tilts your head up so you’re looking at him directly again. There’s something new held in his gaze and you can’t help it as your skin burns where his fingerprints stain.

 

“No, no,” he laughs, “I mean, yes, but no. Not like that.”

 

You try to keep your intimidating look on your features, but you can’t help it as your expression falters at the sound of his laughter. You want to hold him by the cheeks and kiss his smile, but you can’t let yourself crumble.

 

“I just mean that you’re something I never saw coming,” Sweet Pea shrugs as if it’s simple. “You don’t take my shit, but somehow you’re so _nice_ at the same time. I can’t figure you out, and it pisses me off.”

 

He reaches around to press his palms to your biceps and this time you don’t flinch, “I _want_ to figure you out, and that scares me.”

 

“Why?” You ask, leaning into him. You touch his jawline with your fingertips before letting them fall back to his chest, “I-I just want you to be honest with me instead of us playing this chicken game to see who bows down first. It’s getting old. Like, five years old.”

 

“I know,” Sweet Pea shakes his head and now your bodies are flush against one another. He chews on his lower lip before speaking again, “It just took me by surprise and then I found it was easier to be angry than to be honest and I don’t want to be like that anymore.”

 

“Then don’t,” you murmur before pushing yourself up on your toes. Your lips touch just barely, ghosting over one another as you shift your feet.

 

He considers you for a moment, and then, “Okay. If I’m being honest, I hate you.”

 

You can’t help the grin that tugs on your lips. You situate your hands against his pectorals, dangerously close to the tattoo on his neck as your fingers itch with the anticipation to trace it.

 

“I hate your attitude and your backbone.” Sweet Pea nudges his nose over your own, his eyelids half-closed. He smirks, “I hate that you’re unafraid and charming. I hate how genuine you are in wanting to help people, even the Southside. I hate that your smile makes me feel weird inside and that I want to hold your hand. Oh, and I _really hate_ that we are going to have to share this bed tonight.”

 

The two of you share a laugh but your breath hitches in your throat when his nose nuzzles the crux of your jaw and earlobe. Your eyelids close and you bite your lip to hold back the ungodly sound that wants to slip past your teeth. Sweet Pea licks his lips and the tip of his tongue brushes over your jugular, making your body convulses towards him.

 

“Also, I hate the fact that I _really_ want to kiss you right now,” he admits, his voice a whisper against the shell of your ear.

 

“Damn you,” you murmur before dragging him by the back of his head back to your lips.

 

Sweet Pea is quick to grab you around your thighs, his fingertips digging into your skin as he hoists you up against his body. You wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands in his hair. He groans at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp and down his shoulders.

 

He bumps into the lamp and it topples over. Once you’re sure the lightbulb hasn’t shattered everywhere, Sweet Pea is back to walking you in the general direction of the bed. He almost trips over the nightstand, knocking over the books and his phone in the process. He finally gets you with your back against the sheets, his lips suffocating you in the best way possible, and his hands are free to explore now that they’re no longer holding you steady.

 

As his mouth traverses over your jaw and down to your collarbone, you dig your nails into his shoulders and pull at his plaid flannel. You manage to gasp out words between breaths as you feel his teeth bare against your neck.

 

“I hate your stupid smile,” you start, kicking your knees up to get a better feel for him. You slip your hands under his shirt, “I hate your stupid muscles and your stupid eyes. I hate that you make me feel things other people can’t, even when you’re being a total idiot.”

 

You tug on the set of dog tags around his neck, pulling him upward so he looks you in the eyes. He hovers over you and you wonder how you managed to get here, with Sweet Pea the Serpent of all people.

 

“Also,” you echo, “I hate the fact that I _really_ want to kiss you right now.”

 

“We’re in agreement then,” he smirks.

 

You shrug, toying with the chain around his neck, “I guess we are. For once in our lives.”

 

You pull down, wrapping your hand around the chain to bring him loser, “Just kiss me, you snake.”

 

Sweet Pea’s grin is the last thing you see before you close your eyes and let him envelope you in every part of him - mind, body and soul. His lips brandish you like an iron, white hot against your mouth and skin as he takes over your senses. His fingertips are scorching, leaving a path of molten lava in their wake as he trails them over your sides and up under your shirt. He traces your belly button up to your rib cage, the smirk never leaving his lips no matter how hard you kiss him.

 

Your teeth knock against one another and you tear at each other’s mouths, pulling on his lips and him biting at your tongue. You dig your way into the nape of his neck, holding onto him so tightly that it makes him groan against your mouth.

 

“Can’t believe it took me almost five years to do this,” he gasps out onto your tongue. He nudges his nose over yours as he tilts his head to take a short breath before claiming you again.

 

You twist your lips into a smirk, taking advantage of his moment of weakness to turn him onto his back. You hover over him, your hands holding his hands hostage above his head. There’s a brief second when Sweet Pea takes you in, his eyes wide as his lips part to let a puff of air through.

 

You lean down and capture his bottom lip between the bite of your teeth, tugging slowly, Sweet Pea following by tilting his head towards you. You swear you feel a whimper leave his lips, making his throat shudder.

 

“My turn,” you whisper.

 

-

 

“I _told_ you they’d bang if we left them alone long enough,” Cheryl chirps.

 

Toni rolls her eyes, “I hate it when you’re right.”


	9. stranded due to inclimate weather + star-crossed lovers

The curse had come at a young age for the Princess of North.

She was but a babe, merely days old, hardly clean from her mother's womb. The goddess had appeared from thin air only to place her slender hand on the tiny newborn's forehead, muttering a curse that would haunt all of her future days.

"There will come a time in this younglings life, where she will have to choose between love or strife. Those who love her will die a cruel fate, but those who would rise against her should dig their grave."

Before her parents could push the goddess away, she had already wished the incantation upon the young mortal. Her fate was sealed.

The South was in need of food, in need of shelter, with nowhere to turn. The young maiden, but fourteen years of age, welcomed them in with open arms and open gates. The South was allowed to eat with the royalty of the North, allowed to partake in their wine and finest meats. No one from the Southern Kingdom had ever eaten bread that was less than three days stale.

It was happenstance when the Prince of the South and the Princess of the North met.

"I-I'm sorry," he mutters, bristling at the warmth of another's touch. He hadn't felt someone else's skin since his mother had passed away. The memory of her cold touch as the life bled out of her still haunts his nights.

"It's okay," you respond, a warm smile on your kind lips. You curtsy, dipping your head out of respect. This boy will be a King before you know it. It would be wise to have him on your side.

The Prince tilts his head towards you like an inquisitive animal, dark eyes tracking your movements. He coughs before he speaks, "What your family is doing for our Kingdom will not be forgotten, Your Highness. I'm sure they will arrange our union soon enough to keep the ties bound."

You shake your head, your blood running cold, "Oh no, young prince. I shan't believe they would do such a thing at all."

He glances back to you, confusion evident in his swirling brown irises. A chestnut curl flops over his forehead unceremoniously. He is handsome, that much you know, but you do not allow yourself to be torn away from the present by such frivolous things.

"Surely you will be wed to another suitor, then? I apologize if I overstepped, and you were already betrothed. I was not aware." The Prince shuffles his feet, kicking at nonexistent dirt on the floor. He licks his lips and looks you in the eyes again, but this time it is your turn to speak.

"I will never be wed," you hold back tears, steeling your resolve as you stand before this boy. You grip your hands into fists by your side, "To love me is to be cursed, and to die. I would never wish that upon another soul."

The Prince looks at you quizzically, but you make your exit before he can ask any other intrusive questions; questions you never want to think about answering.

\--

News spreads around town on your twenty-first birthday that you are  _still_ unwed to one of your many suitors.

People begin to wonder:  _Is she unfit for a man? Is she unfit to rule? Is she unlovable? Does she lust after women?_

And, while at least one of the rumors is true, only your family will ever know the truth.

The only other person you've ever opened up to was the Prince of the Southern Kingdom. And you haven't seen him in years.

Until he shows up on your castle doorstep, asking about a treaty.

You are spending time in the stables when you hear his deep voice approach.

"My parents do not understand how I have not chosen a bride yet," he laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that sounds more like a bark than anything. "They continue to have events in my honor, dragging in women from every which way, but I cannot find it within me to say yes."

He looks up at you, and you wish your heart didn't stop.

The Prince has grown much more handsome than you last remember. He has a chiseled jawline and strong cheekbones. His lips are full and his muscles now fill out his tunic. He is no longer lanky and awkward; instead, he walks with a certain sense of regality in his gait.

"Your Highness," he bows to you, dipping his head out of respect. You swear he is smirking at you when he rises to his full height again, but the expression has gone from his face as soon as you try to pin it down. "Would you care to go for a ride?"

He's gesturing to the horses, but you're trying to look your father in the eyes so you can silently ask for help. You do not need to get close to this Prince. In fact, you need to stay very far away.

"Um," you manage to stutter out, "I-I would like that, actually."

You mount your horse, Athena, and he sidles up to you with his frame settled atop your father's steed, Heracles.

You are out for hours, exploring the lower parts of your kingdom's land. You ride through the countryside, smelling of the fresh fruits and flowers that the citizens are growing to help your kingdom thrive. You wave to the people as you pass by, asking about their families and their crops.

"You are respected in your Kingdom, princess," The Prince nods to you as you clear out of another apple orchard. He chuckles, shaking his head, "I don't think I've met another quite like you."

"Well," you begin, straightening your spine, "that might be because there isn't another quite like me."

You ignore the swelling in your heart when he looks at you with shining eyes, respect glowing in his chocolate irises. You slap the reigns against your horse and head back to your home.

\--

Five years pass and The Prince is not a stranger to your home. You learn he likes to be called Sweet Pea and that he enjoys riding his horse and eating peaches. He does not like to wear typical prince clothing and cannot stand the taste of alcohol. His hands are warm as they guide your back and elbow, and his eyes are gentle when he looks at you.

There comes a day when he gets too close and your face gets too hot and your heart pulses too quick and you realize what is happening.

You are falling in love.

And instead of falling heart first, you push him away with rough palms and a tight voice.

You banish him from your kingdom, forcing your guards to keep him at bay when he visits. You cannot allow your heart to grow much fonder of him, or else the curse will ring true and he will lose his life.

Letters appear at your door, slipped under the frame, always sealed with the dark green wax and his ornate stamp. You cannot bear to open them, so you hide them away in hopes that one day, once your heart quenches it's thirst, you might read them to remember the time when you were  _almost in love_.

\--

Another year passes and the letters stop.

Princess Lodge of East La Bonne is hosting a ball to celebrate her engagement to Prince Mantle of Riverdale. Before you can make out which is left and which is right, you're being loaded into the castle's finest carriage and driven to East La Bonne without another word.

Princess Elizabeth and Queen Topaz are both in attendance, which makes your heart's anxious beating quell to a gentle thumping in your chest. You lean on them for support, sipping on a fine, bubbly drink in the meantime. You dance with Antoinette, your hands on her shoulders as her fingers guide your waist. She makes you laugh and when you finally open your eyes to thank her for the dance, you catch the gaze of a certain Southside royal.

As soon as his eyes lock onto yours, he begins to trek your way. You push yourself out of Antoinette's arms, an apology billowing from your lips. Your dress catches on the doorframe as you make your way anywhere, god, anywhere, but here. You find yourself tripping through a side door that leads to the back garden. The blooms smell enticing but you cannot stop to appreciate them.

Heavy footfalls echo behind you, only driving you further away. You push yourself into a small stable, pretending not to feel the beginning of rain on your skin. The wetness of the weather makes your dress slick, sticking the fabric to every contour of your body. You feel tears well up but you know you cannot cry; cannot risk him hearing you.

"Princess?" he calls.

You hear the stable door swing shut and your heart drops into your feet.

The rain begins to pour outside, loud droplets echoing off the rooftop. You wrap your arms around yourself and bury your body further into the bale of hay, praying yourself invisible.

"I don't understand," he continues, "You never even told me why."

He sounds angry, and you cannot blame him. You imagine the way his upper lip would curl in discontent, and the way his cheeks would tinge pink in embarrassment that someone else might be able to control his temperament, even for a moment.

You force the thoughts out of your head – you cannot continue to list the things you find beautiful about this man, it will only mean his demise.

"Go away!" you shout finally. Your voice is grief-stricken and thick with emotion. Tears cloud your eyes as you thrust your pointer finger towards the stable door. "You will leave, now! Did you not understand before, when I banished you from the North?"

Sweet Pea takes a heavy step towards you, his boots loud against the stone floor. His spirit feels weighted, as if chains were tied to his ankles. He reaches out to touch your elbow but you yank it away as if burned.

"Please tell me what is going on, Princess," he begs of you.

Thunder and lightning crackle outside the door and you know you should retreat back indoors, where the party can keep you safe.

"I do not owe you any sort of an explanation," you shake your head and fight more tears. Your throat begins to close up as your feelings swell to the surface. "Please, leave.  _Now_."

Sweet Pea angrily approaches you, backing you into the wooden wall of the stable. He presses the pad of his index fingertip to the valley of your breasts, accusing you even in silence.

"You were my  _friend_. I cared for you. I was there for you when you were sad and when you were angry. You held my hand when my brother was ill." His hands shake with emotion, eyes alight with something akin to fear. He sucks his lower lip into the bite of his teeth for just a moment before releasing, "And you have the audacity to shut me out without another word? I lo-"

"Don't!" you screech, falling to your knees in front of him. You crumble, unable to deal with the thought of losing this man to the curse that befell you as a child. "Do not go any further!"

"Why not?!" he beseeches. Sweet Pea squats in front of you, cradling your cheeks in firm, large hands. His thumbs brush over the tear tracks on your skin, "Why will you not let me tell you how I feel?"

Your hands are numb as the rain pours down outside. There is no way you will ever be able to leave now. It is as if fate has locked you away in a room, destiny sending your beloved Sweet Pea to his death right in front of your eyes.

"We cannot do this," you tell him. You cover his hands with your own, relishing in his touch for a moment, "I am cursed. I cannot allow you to bare your soul to me because it will mean certain death for you. I will not allow it."

"I don't care about a lousy curse," he assures you with a gentle voice. His eyes are kind, just like the day you met, and his smile tugs gently at his full mouth. Oh, how you long to taste the delicacy of his lips. And yet, you are barred from partaking in any bit of this man.

"I care!" You shout, your hands gripping furiously at his tunic. Tears relentlessly drag down your cheeks, heat steaming up your chest to your face to pinken the skin of your cheeks.

You shake your head and lightning strikes on cue, "Don't you understand, Pea!?"

He swallows, his throat bobbing, "I do not care about a curse, princess. I care about you."

"And that will be your undoing," you whisper, voice cracking.

You release his tunic and allow yourself to finish crumbling. You rock back and forth, the anxiety creeping up like a pack of spiders on your spine. You want to itch, to scratch them away, but you know there will be nothing there when your fingernails scrape at your skin.

"You need to forget me. Forget all of this. You need to go, find a woman who will bear you healthy sons and continue your lineage." You swipe at your face to rid your skin of tears. You cannot look him in the eye, not when your heart is breaking.

"How can I forget you?" he whispers in a husky voice, tears begging to be released from his lids. "I love you."

Just as the words are spoken, he falls to his knees, clutching his throat.

 


	10. Teacher AU + Mutual Pining + Dance AU

You’ve been a teacher at Riverdale Elementary for six years now.

It was easy, once you heard about the Southside school system shutting down, you knew you had to help. You were working at Ronnie’s, living off your dead parent’s trust fund money while you went out to  _find yourself_ , or something like that. But, it all changed the day that news spread aired.

You volunteer, you serve, you teach, you do a little bit of everything. You tutor for the math club, you help with the chess team, and you even help coach the girls’ softball team.

And every time, when the Winter Solstice Dance rolls around, you’re first in line to volunteer as chaperone.

It’s adorable to see children ten and under dress up in poufy ball gowns and tiny tuxedos complete with a bow tie. You don’t mind service fruit punch and peanut butter sandwiches cut into snowmen because you get to watch little girls giggle and little boys blush.

Also, Sweet Pea is  _always_ on the chaperone list too.

You’ve spoken to him sparingly, when he comes to the school to volunteer or when you bump into one another in the hallways. He’s recently become more involved, and you’re wondering if it has to do with the seven year-old boy he’s escorting to the restroom.

Toni Topaz teaches second grade and she  _swears_ that Sweet Pea is single. Betty Cooper, an office administrator and part-time English teacher tells you in passing that he’s got a thing for you. Even Vice Principal Lodge swears that Sweet Pea lingers in the halls when he’s picking up who you presume to be his child, waiting to see if you’ll emerge from your classroom.

It’s not your fault that you haven’t approached him yet. He’s tall and muscular, and a little scary with the snake tattoo spread across his neck. On the other hand, he’s really handsome and you’ve never heard him raise his voice or cop an attitude with his kid when they’re late to the pick-up line or forget something in their classroom and he has to park the car and wait for him to come back.

Again, kind of scary, but in a handsome way, and unapproachable to the max. It’s not your fault you don’t speak to him; nobody does.

And then it feels like the universe is laughing at you when a certain tall, muscular, handsome-in-a-scary-way man bumps into you at the punch bowl.

Apologies flow from both of your lips and you straighten your dress before looking him in the eyes, “I am  _so sorry_. I wasn’t even paying attention.”

“Well,” he chuckles, trying to right himself and keep the blush off his cheeks, “I don’t think most of the other guests here tonight would have bulldozed you over. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?”

You shake your head and offer him your hand, “No, uh, we haven’t. I teach kindergarten, it looks like your boy is a bit older than that.”

You exchange names and then he does a double-take, “I-I’m sorry.  _My boy_?”

“Yes, your son,” you supply, gesturing to the short, dark-haired seven year-old across the dance floor. He’s currently trying to convince an eight year-old that he doesn’t have two left feet. “He’s cute. I’ve seen him in the halls a couple of times, and only heard the best reports from his teachers. You’ve raised him really well.”

Sweet Pea’s face goes bright red and you’re afraid you’ve overstepped. You bumble through a few apologies, reaching out to press your fingertips to his forearms. “I’m so sorry.  _Again_. It’s not my place to talk about your son like that.”

“No, it’s fine.” Sweet Pea covers your palm with his own, sending a bolt of lightning through your bones. “It’s just, that, well – he’s not my kid. He’s my nephew.”

You’re speechless now, only because more apologizing seems like it would be nothing short of annoying. You roll your lips and try to come up with  _something_ to say, but end up empty-handed. You shake your head and try your best to look him in the eye, craning your neck skyward.

“My fault for assuming,” you nod.

Sweet Pea manages a smile, retracting his hand after realizing he was still touching you. “It’s okay. Fogarty is in the military, so he’s gone for long periods of time. His wife died in childbirth, so I take shifts of helping the kid get where he needs to go, and giving him a place to sleep.”

The universe is  _howling_ in laughter at you right now.

You lick your lips, “That’s rather noble of you, I think. I’m sorry to hear about his mother.”

He smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. When he speaks, it sounds smoother than before, like honey rolling off his tongue, “We’re Serpents, we band together when things go south. We’re a family.”

“Sounds exactly like something he would need in a time like this,” you supply, noting the way that his eyes track your every movement. “We really appreciate your help chaperoning. The PTO board can’t ever get enough volunteers, and most teachers would rather be anywhere else other than spending more time at school.”

Sweet Pea reaches out and touches your shoulder with his hand, opening his mouth to speak, but interrupted by a tiny pair of hands yanking on his jeans.

He raises a brow and looks down at the boy you thought thirty minutes ago was his own flesh and blood, “Hey, Charlie. What’s up?”

“I’m ready to go home,” he whispers, trying his best not to let you hear.

You chuckle and take a step away so he feels more comfortable talking to Sweet Pea without you overhearing. Sweet Pea ruffles Charlie’s hair and nods, “Sure, kiddo. We can go whenever you’re ready.”

He stands to his full height once more and you’re overwhelmed by his stature. You look up at him, admiring his height and muscle. Sweet Pea catches you staring and a smirk graces his full lips, forcing a pink blush onto your cheeks. He reaches out and circles your wrist with a gentle touch, “I’ll see you next time?”

“Next time,” you echo, forcing the words from between your teeth.

Charlie tugs on his arm one more time, and you swear you don’t watch him every second until he walks out the gymnasium doors.

\--

Betty and Toni show up at your doorstep the first night of Spring Break, and you  _swear_ you want to punch both of them in the face.

“How do you guys even have any energy?” you whine as they toss you around your bedroom, throwing clothes at you that you didn’t even think you had. You catch a sparkly shirt and throw it on, knowing that you’ll either do it willingly, or they’ll force it onto you.

“Listen, ever since the Southside has been shut down, the Wyrm has been operating secretly – only the true Southsiders know that it’s up and running. We’re going to go out!” Toni bites her lip as she takes in your appearance.

“And what if I see parents there?” you ask, raising a brow.

Betty smirks, “Well, just means that you saw them too.”

And just like that, they’ve got you tossed in the back of Toni’s truck and on the way to The Wyrm.

It’s been ages since you’ve been to the Wyrm. Life just got too hectic and you became too busy with school planning and grading to even have a social life.

It smells the same as always when you three crack the wood doors open – like cheap beer and disappointment.

Betty claims a pool table while Toni grabs your first drink order of the night. It’s easy, falling into step like this with your girl friends. Honestly, you’ve missed having a life.

You’re definitely not tipsy enough when a group of three guys approaches the table, all wearing smirks and mischievous expressions.

Toni laughs, “Oh, Jones, what’s the big deal?”

“Fogarty, Pea, and I just wanted a quick game, is all.” The one you recognize as Jughead Jones saunters around the table to take a spot beside Betty. You blink, trying to remember where you’ve heard the name  _Fogarty_ before.

A hand presses to your shoulder and you look up to meet the hazel eyes of none other than Sweet Pea.

“Wow, hey,” you muster, a grin tugging on the corners of your mouth. You set you drink down on a coaster and pull him in for a hug, praying that it’s not too weird and that he’ll just go along with it. He does, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and squeezing you tight enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“We’ll team up,” the only one left,  _Fogarty_ , says as he bridles up next to Toni. She rolls her eyes but sends him a wink, “You picked the winning team, Fangs. Let’s get another round of drinks before we crush the competition.”

The pair walk towards the bar, engulfed in conversation, effectively leaving you practically alone with Sweet Pea, given that Betty and Jughead are knee deep in staring into one another’s eyes.

“So,” he starts, leaning against the pool table. His plaid shirt hands off his shoulders nicely, tight around his biceps and wide around the collar, exposing his collarbones. “I guess now is the time to tell you that I’m the reigning champ of pool, and if you screw this up for me, I will never live it down.”

You roll your eyes and swallow the thick lump in your throat, trying your hardest to appear cool despite the utter fear that has settled into your bones, “Well, then I should let you know that I’m practically a beast with a pool stick, so you have nothing to worry about.”

He bites his lip before looking you in the eye, a smirk playing on his mouth. He grabs the chalk and brushes it against the tip of the pool stick, dark eyes never leaving your face.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he answers in a deep voice, tossing you the chalk as he racks the pool balls.

Jughead throws the first game and Fangs throws the second, leaving you and Sweet Pea in first place two games in a row. Toni has been practically wasted for at least an hour, and Betty has been making bedroom eyes at Jughead since the third round of shots arrived.

“Ride home?” Sweet Pea offers, watching as Fangs exits with Toni, and Jughead stalks away with his arm around Betty’s waist.

You nod, chuckling, “Yeah, I guess so. My ride ditched me.”

“Yeah, Topaz isn’t always the best at paying attention,” Sweet Pea laughs. He helps you clean up your nearby table, stacking dishes and putting away the pool table equipment. You shrug, “I don’t mind. Usually I just Uber home.”

Sweet Pea guides you with his hand on your lower back, effectively pouring metaphoric hot lava down your spine. You force yourself to hold in a shiver due to nerves alone as he holds the door open for you and walks you to his motorcycle. It’s a short walk, and yet it feels like you’ve been running a marathon with the way your heart is beating and your breath is leaving your lungs.

As if the universe is  _still_ laughing at you, when Sweet Pea revs his motorcycle, you squeak and tighten your arms around his waist. He laughs, and you can’t bear to look at him so you just bury your helmet-covered head in between his shoulder blades and don’t move until the motorcycle has stopped in front of your house.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he speaks up as he juts his heel into the kickstand.

You shake your head, pulling the helmet off and cradling it in your hands, “No, it’s fine. My head is in the clouds, it feels like. I haven’t been up this late in so long, it’s pathetic.”

“I get what you mean,” he answers, stepping off the motorcycle. Sweet Pea reaches out and helps you down with his hands on your waist. “I’ve had Charlie the past couple of weeks, Fangs just got back from a couple weeks away, and the kid is having a hard time the older he gets with his dad being gone.”

You step closer on reflex, with his hands on your waist, “I couldn’t imagine…that must be so hard.”

“No kidding,” Sweet Pea chuckles. He reaches up with one hand to rub the back of his neck and you’re not sure if it’s the remaining buzz talking to you, or the night air that settles like a balm on your skin, but you reach up and tuck a stray curl behind his ear.

The moment your fingerprint presses against his skin, his irises connect with yours and a quiet falls over the two of you.

Before you can retract your palm from his face, Sweet Pea circles his fingers around your wrist to hold you still. His gaze is intense and his touch is hot; you’re not sure where this is going or if you even want to get there. All you do know is that his skin is soft and his lips look really full and your heart is running rampant in your chest.

Sweet Pea takes your hesitation to mean that you don’t want him to advance, and so he steps back and starts apologizing for being too forward. Before you can think too far into it, you push yourself up on your toes and press a quick kiss to his lips.

As you settle back down to the soles of your shoes in the gravel of the front yard, you feel a certain weight of fear settle in your stomach. You barely have time to breathe before you’re swept up into his arms and cradled against his body as he walks towards your front door. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and hold on tightly to his shoulders as he walks up the steps and fumbles through the bag on your hip for your keys.

Sweet Pea sets you down on the nearest countertop, his hips never straying far from your own. He hooks his hands around your thighs as he looks up at you, trying to figure you out as you bite your lip and stare down at him.

“How long?” he asks simply, breaking the silence.

You cock your head to the side and he repeats the question, but now you’ve pulled yourself far enough out of your haze that you can process his question.

“Seven months, I think,” you answer. “I noticed you probably three years ago, but wasn’t sure until the start of this school year when I saw you at Orientation.”

He smirks and dips his head to your collarbone, eyelashes fluttering against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your breath hitches and you instinctively clutch your knees tighter around his waist.

Sweet Pea’s voice is gentle as it echoes against the shell of your ear, “I think mine has been close to two years. Saw you with Topaz and knew that you were good people if she was hanging around you.”

You can’t hide the surprise in your voice when you confirm that he said two years by echoing the words back to him. He chuckles and tilts his head back so he can look you in the eyes, “Pathetic, I know.”

“No, what’s pathetic is that for the past three years, I’ve wanted you to ask me to dance.”

He pulls away to tug you down from the counter, “Well, I finally have the guts to ask you.”

Somehow he manages to get the perfect song playing on his phone as he gathers you up in his arms, one palm on your waist and the other threaded through your own fingers. He sways with you, your bodies pressed to one another as the song progresses.

“Doubt this would have been appropriate at a children’s dance,” you murmur, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to become enamored with the warmth of his body.

Sweet Pea nudges his nose against your temple, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He cranes his neck and you feel the start of a breath against your lips, but you push yourself upward and meet him halfway in a surge. You wrap your arms around his neck and your teeth bump as your kiss hastens.

He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah, technically boys have cooties.”

“I’ll risk it,” you whisper, slotting your mouth to his before he can interrupt you again.

 


End file.
